Shadow's Heir
by Opifex the Singer
Summary: Sequel to Shade Dreams.
1. Dragon King

**Chapter One**

**Dragon King**

The sun rose.

The sky had already begun to lighten – only a little, but noticeably. Black became very dark blue, tinged with grey, before that paled still further and took on a hint of purple, mixed with wisps of white cloud that threaded themselves between the fading stars. Which, little by little, began to go out. The night was ending and their time was done. The moon had long since gone, and now they too were leaving to make way for the sun.

A line of pale yellow appeared along the horizon. It grew and it brightened, deceptively fast, and then flashed into pure gold along its entire length. The sun rose.

It did so in absolute silence, bringing the light of day with it and letting it flood joyously over the land, turning featureless black shapes into mountains, hills and trees. And, closer to, it revealed the rooftops of the city. Smoke was already rising from a few chimneys here and there, ethereal against the pink and purple sky. On the horizon beyond the great blazing shape was rising into view, red-gold and glorious.

From her perch on the dragon roost, Saphira raised her head a little to watch, one wing refolding itself with a faint rustling sound. She loved to watch the sunrise and did so nearly every morning. Dawn was the natural time for a dragon to wake up, and the others sharing the roost with her were beginning to stir.

The blue dragon yawned and scratched her snout. It looked like another fine day ahead.

Beside her, a large red dragon stretched his wings and bared his own teeth in a yawn. _'Good morning,'_ he said, using the mental speech all dragons spoke.

Saphira nuzzled the other dragon's muscular shoulder. _'Good morning, Thorn. Did you sleep well?'_

'_I might have slept better, but someone was digging her claws into my tail,'_ Thorn growled.

Saphira dipped her head. _'Sorry.'_

He nibbled at the membrane of his left wing. _'You're forgiven.'_

The two dragons stopped abruptly, snouts turning upward as a loud noise shattered the silence of dawn. It came again a few seconds later; a harsh, distant bellowing that echoed over the city.

The silence that followed seemed somehow even more complete than before.

'_The King has awakened, it would seem,' _said Thorn.

'_I hate it when he does that,'_ said Saphira.

'_Consider yourself lucky that you haven't heard him do it from up close,'_ Thorn said grimly.

'_Why does he have to do that every morning?'_ said Saphira. _'People don't like it.'_

'_It's his instinct,'_ said Thorn. _'He is not a bonded dragon, Saphira. I don't mind it, myself.'_

'_But doesn't it scare you?'_

'_A little, yes,'_ the red dragon admitted. _'But then I remind myself of what it means. It's not just a noise. It means "I am here, and I am strong, and I will protect this land". It reassures me, knowing that.'_

'_Well I wish it did the same for me,'_ Saphira muttered.

Thorn ignored her. He got up, stretching his legs and wings, and then launched himself off the dragon roost, soaring upward to circle high over the city, his red wings catching the early sun. Saphira watched him, unable to hide her admiration.

The other dragons were awake now. Rose, whose scales were red like her father's, flew up to join him, and Skarlath, her green-scaled brother, followed. Saphira ambled over to the black dragon that had stayed behind. _'Morning, Silarae.'_

The black dragon flicked her tail. _'Morning. Has the King finished his roaring yet?'_

'_Yes, luckily. Is your rider awake yet?'_

'_Not yet. She was up late.'_

'_Not again. Doesn't that child ever sleep?'_

'_She's starting to have doubts about it,'_ said Silarae.

'_Oh well. I'd let her sleep if I were you. She needs it.'_

'_I intend to. What are you going to do today?'_

Saphira yawned again. _'Not much. Maybe go for a flight somewhere. I'll wait for Sif to wake up and ask her what she feels like doing.'_

'_Enjoy that sort of thing while you can,'_ Silarae said darkly. _'You two can't stay idle forever.'_

'_Yes, yes, I know.'_

'_I'm not just speculating, you know,'_ said Silarae. _'Nasuada and I went to talk to the King yesterday, and he told us he had something in mind.'_

Saphira shifted nervously. _'What sort of something would that be?'_

'_I don't know. But I expect you'll find out soon enough.'_

Sif turned over in bed, sighed and settled down into the pillows. She loved mornings like these, when she was just awake enough to know she was still more or less asleep and able to enjoy the warmth and softness of the feather mattress. The King's customary morning roarings had roused her, but not much. She was too used to hearing it by now.

She nestled under the velvet coverlet and tried to slip back into the dream she had been having. To her annoyance, though, it refused to be recaptured and slipped out of her mind. Her efforts to remember it only woke her up properly, and she sighed and opened her eyes.

Early morning sunlight was shining in through the window. She lay and watched it, feeling too lazy to move, but finally gave in and sat up, yawning widely.

Saphira, of course, instantly sensed that she was awake. _'Morning, sleepyhead.'_

Sif slid out of bed and padded over to the window. _'How long have you been awake?'_

'_Hours. The sun's already up. You know, you really should come and watch the sunrise with me one day.'_

'_Thanks, but I'd rather get up after the sun,'_ said Sif.

'_Someone's grouchy this morning,'_ Saphira commented.

'_If you say so.'_

Sif went to the nightstand and splashed her face with water from the dish resting on it. That helped to wake her up, and once she'd dried herself off she went to the wardrobe to choose an outfit. There were dozens of fine gowns hanging up in there, and she flicked through them for a while and finally selected a dark blue affair whose front bore an elaborate dragon design embroidered in silver, with slashed sleeves that had been highlighted with grey silk picked out with tiny sapphire beads. She laid it out on the bed and picked up a comb, peering at herself in the mirror.

At the age of sixteen – her seventeen birthday was a few months away – Sif had only just finished her training as a dragon-rider. Her adopted father had schooled her in the art of swordplay, and had also taught her the ancient language and the methods of channelling and using the magic that her bond with Saphira had blessed her with. Now that she no longer had lessons every day, but had not been entrusted with any important duties like the other riders, she was free to do whatever she liked. It had only been like this for a month or so, but she was enjoying it a great deal.

Sif dragged the comb through her hair with quick, efficient strokes. It was very dark – almost black – and she wore it long around her shoulders. Once she had neatened it to her satisfaction she picked up a number of thin gold bands from the dressing table and used them to bind it into a number of long bundles. That done, she put on her favourite pair of earrings, along with a large red jewel on an elaborate necklace, and then pulled the gown on over her head, smoothing down her skirts and adjusting the hang of it until she was sure it was on properly. Before she put on her shoes she checked herself in the mirror again, wanting to be certain that she hadn't forgotten anything.

She had inherited her mother's delicate features and fine eyebrows, but the bright blue eyes had not come from either of her parents. They were a relic of her long-dead grandfather, or so she had been told. They matched Saphira's scales, and she had always liked that about them. She was less happy about her nose, though. She rubbed it and frowned at her reflection. Maybe there was some way to change the shape of it by magic… she decided she would ask Murtagh about it next time she saw him.

'_Stop grooming yourself and hurry up,'_ Saphira complained. _'I want to go flying today.'_

Sif pulled on her shoes. _'All right, all right, I'm coming. I just have to go and have breakfast. I'll be as fast as I can.'_

She left the room and made her way toward the castle's dining hall. The servants she passed greeted her respectfully, but she didn't notice much. She was used to it by now. She might be young but she was a rider, and riders ruled Alagaësia now, just as they had done a hundred years ago. Not that it was quite the same now. Once all riders had been trained and led by the race of elves, and had been themselves governed by a council of elders headed by an elf called Vrael. There had been hundreds of them in those days, or so Sif had been told. But then, one day, a young rider called Galbatorix had led a rebellion against the rest of the order. With the help of twelve other traitors he had wiped out the riders and then assumed power, crowning himself King of the entire country.

Now, though, Galbatorix was gone. He had left the country six years ago, along with his Queen, Skade, and no-one had seen him since or knew where he had gone. He had left his old power to the new riders who had arisen toward the end of his own reign, but they had been forced to subordinate themselves to a new King. He had taken the throne more or less by force, and no-one had had the strength or courage to refuse him. The new riders had taken unbreakable oaths of obedience to him, and now he ruled the country through them. There had been some attempts to change this state of affairs, but they had all been half-hearted affairs and none had gone very far. The truth was that even the riders themselves – the most powerful race to exist in Alagaësia – were too afaid of him to do anything but obey him.

When Sif reached the dining hall she found Murtagh already there, along with her mother, Nasuada. Murtagh was eating a bowl of soup, but though there was a second bowl in front of Nasuada she wasn't eating it. She was busy contending with the small boy sitting beside her, who was refusing to eat his own breakfast.

Sif came over to join them. 'Hello,' she said, sitting down. A couple of servants quickly supplied her with soup and some toasted bread, and she started to eat it without looking at them.

Nasuada, an elegant-looking middle aged woman with dark brown skin, glanced up. 'Good morning, Sif. How did you sleep?'

'In bed, same as always,' said Sif, and giggled.

Murtagh gave her a jaundiced look. 'It's a little early in the day for jokes.'

'It's not _that_ early,' said Sif, dipping her spoon into the soup.

'It is if you've been up half the night trying to deal with this,' said Nasuada, resignedly dabbing at the soup which the child had just spilled over his tunic. 'Look, for the last time, Eragon, the soup goes in your _mouth_.'

The boy grinned and prodded her with the spoon. 'I'm a rider.'

'And riders need to eat,' said Nasuada, taking it from him and dipping it into the bowl for another go.

Sif sighed and resumed eating her own breakfast. She hated watching her half-brother during mealtimes. He never seemed to be able to eat anything without making a mess.

'I'm glad to have caught you this morning, Sif,' said Murtagh, interrupting her thoughts.

She looked up at him. 'Why?'

Murtagh rubbed a hand through his greying hair. 'The King wants to see you.'

Sif dropped her spoon. 'What? What for?'

'It's all right, you're not in trouble,' said Nasuada. 'He just wants to talk to you.'

Sif didn't feel much better to hear this. 'But why? What about?'

'You've finished your training,' said Murtagh. 'Obviously he wants to give you some responsibilities. You're ready for it now.'

'But I've only just finished,' Sif complained. 'I thought I wouldn't have to do any of that stuff until I was eighteen at least.'

'Don't be childish,' said Murtagh. 'I became a rider when I was only a little older than yourself, and I had duties to carry out before I'd even finished my training. Thorn and I were flying into battle together before I turned twenty.'

'Yes, because _he_ sent you,' said Sif.

Murtagh tore a chunk of bread in half. 'Exactly. He was my master. Now your own master is ready to give you your first orders. You should be proud.'

'I don't _want_ him to be my master,' said Sif. 'Why do we need a King, anyway?'

'That's enough, Sif,' said Nasuada.

'But-,'

'I said that's enough. You swore loyalty to the King, and therefore you must do as he says.'

'You didn't do what the last King said,' Sif pointed out.

'That's different. I'm a rider now, and that means having responsibilities. You can't spend the rest of your life playing, Sif. Power wasn't given to you so you could waste it.'

'I don't _play!'_

Nasuada ignored her. She had given up on trying to make little Eragon eat, and now started on her own breakfast.

Sif stared at the table, her appetite gone. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Saphira had heard. _'Sif…'_

Sif fiddled with the fastenings on her hair. _'I don't want to go.'_

'_We have to. You know what will happen if we don't.'_

Sif gave a mental nod. _'I know, I know…'_

'_Don't worry. He's not going to hurt us, Sif. Why would he? We haven't done anything wrong. He just wants to give us something to do.'_

'_But what if it's something awful?'_

'_I doubt it. But we'll see. Don't worry. I'll be there.'_

Sif stood up abruptly. _'I'm coming.'_

'_Don't forget to bring the saddle.'_

Nasuada was watching. 'Don't go yet,' she said. 'I'm coming with you.'

Sif looked at her. 'When do I have to go?'

'As soon as you can. The King doesn't like to be kept waiting. You go ahead and put Saphira's saddle on, and I'll come and meet you on the roost, all right?'

'Yes, Mother.' Sif shuffled resignedly out of the room.

Back in her own quarters, she opened a chest and lifted out Saphira's leather saddle. Underneath it was a long silver-hilted sword. She lifted that out too. The scabbard was well-oiled and had fine silver fastenings, but it was nothing compared to the sword. Its hilt was set with gems the colour of ice, and the blade itself was also blue, rippling with silver watermarks. It was a rider's sword, made by an ancient elvish method now lost to the world forever. Engraved just below the hilt was the word _Íssbrandr._ Ice-Blade. Her grandfather's sword, and her father's. She had never used it in combat before.

'_Should I take it with me?'_

Saphira paused to think it over. _'Yes, I think you should. For ceremonial reasons.'_

Sif nodded and straightened up. _'I should put on a better dress, too.'_

'_I very much doubt the King will care about what you're wearing, Sif. Dragons don't notice that sort of thing. Anyway, you don't have the time for it.'_

'_Oh, fine.'_ Sif took a thick, dark-blue woollen cloak from the wardrobe and put it on, strapping the sword on over the top with the hilt protruding over her shoulder. She didn't like having it there. It weighed her down and pulled her dress out of shape. But it did make her feel a little more confident.

She picked up the saddle and left for the dragon roost, climbing laboriously up the long flight of stairs that led to its flat top. She hauled herself up the ladder and pushed the trapdoor open, blinking when the wind touched her face.

Saphira was crouched nearby, waiting. _'There you are.'_

Sif straightened up, her arms aching under the weight of the saddle. _'I hate carrying this thing.'_

Saphira lay flat on her stomach. _'Well put it on then.'_

Nasuada arrived while Sif was strapping it into place, carrying Silarae's own saddle. She was warmly dressed, and her own sword was strapped to her back. 'Oh good,' she said, on seeing her. 'I was hoping you'd already be here. You're bringing your sword, are you?'

Sif nodded. 'I thought it would look right.'

'Yes, you were right to think that,' said Nasuada. 'A rider is only complete with their sword. The King may take you a little more seriously now.'

Sif finished putting the saddle on, and climbed onto Saphira's back. The blue dragon sat still while she did up the straps around her legs that would hold her in place. _'Are you finished yet?'_

'_Yes.'_ Sif held on tightly, lurching a little as Saphira got to her feet.

Nasuada had finished saddling Silarae, and now she too mounted up. 'All right, let's go. You should fly ahead.'

Saphira launched herself from the roost and flew out over the city. Sif shivered as the wind dragged at her, but she wasn't bothered by flying. She'd been doing it since the age of ten, and it was second nature by now.

The blue dragon circled over the city a few times, beating her wings to steady herself in the air. When she was at soaring height, she turned herself South and set out on the short journey to the place where the King awaited.

Once there had been farmland to the South of the city – once called Urû'baen, but now restored to its old name of Ilirea. Now, though, that land had been emptied and the farmers that had once occupied it had been forced to leave. Trees, encouraged to grow by magic, had covered the abandoned fields. And, rising straight out of that, there was the mountain. It had not always been there.

Sif still dimly remembered the day when the mountain had appeared. The strongest part of the memory was the noise. The very stones of Ilirea had shaken under the force of it, and when she had run up to the castle wall to look she had seen the mountain rise out of the ground, soil flowing down its sides like water as it thrust itself into the sky. The mountain had come to be referred to as the Dragon's Throne, and commoners regarded it with a great deal of superstitious fear. Sif knew that the King was the one who had made it. His magic had forced it to rise out of the ground, just as it had made the trees grow. Lacking a home that suited him, he had made one for himself.

Saphira landed at the edge of the trees, and Sif dismounted. The trees were oaks and pines, impossibly tall and majestic, as if they were hundreds of years old. Silarae landed a short distance away, and she and Nasuada came on foot to join them.

Sif, still standing at the edge of the trees, looked back uncertainly. 'Are you coming in with me?'

'Yes, of course,' said Nasuada. 'Let's go.'

Sif braced herself and walked in, followed by Saphira. The trees closed in on her almost at once, blocking out the sky and making her feel as if she were entering a cave rather than a forest. Underfoot the ground was padded with fallen leaves, and here and there a shaft of light reached through a rare gap in the canopy. As she walked she caught a glimpse of something. It was a deer, impossibly big, bounding away.

'_My gods,'_ said Saphira. _'I've never seen one that size.'_

'_The King makes them grow,'_ said Sif. _'He can change things…'_

They walked through the forest for several minutes, sharing a feeling of apprehension, until the mountain was directly in front of them and Nasuada called a halt.

'Well,' she said. 'Here is where I wait. You have to go on from here without me.'

Sif went cold. 'Why?'

'The King didn't send for me, he sent for you,' said Nasuada. 'If I came with you he would send me away again. Whatever he wants to talk about will be between you and him.'

Saphira came close, touching Sif with her snout. _'Come on. We can do this. You and me, together.'_

The blue dragon's voice gave Sif a little courage. 'All right,' she said aloud. 'I'm going.'

'And good luck,' said Nasuada, smiling on her. 'Just be respectful and don't answer back, and everything will be fine.'

Sif nodded. She put her hand on Saphira's foreleg and the two of them walked toward the mountain together, weaving their way between the massive tree-trunks. Before long Nasuada and Silarae had disappeared from view, but Sif did not look back. All her attention was on the mountain now. Close to it looked even more massive than before, its sides jagged dark grey rock, green here and there with moss and ferns. She had never seen it up close before. The only people who came here came at the direct request of the King, and he had never sent for her before.

Saphira halted. _'We're here.'_

Sif did not need to ask her how she knew. It had been obvious ever since the mountain had come into view. Ahead of her there was a massive hole in its side – so huge its top reached more than halfway up the mountain's full height. Beyond there was darkness.

Sif and Saphira stood at its edge, both unwilling to go further. But it was too late to turn back. As Sif was on the point of asking Saphira what they should do next, she heard a deep rumbling come from inside the cave. The King had sensed their presence.

'_Don't move,'_ said Saphira.

Silence, and then there was a voice. It spoke in both their heads. _'Come to me.'_

The voice was deep and rumbling, every word a growl.

Saphira raised her wings briefly and glanced at Sif. _'Well come on.'_

Sif knew she had no choice. She braced herself and stepped forward, into the darkness.

But it was not entirely dark. Once she was well inside she realised that there was a faint glow inside the cave… not quite light, but an absence of complete darkness. It was just enough to show her the massive shape that awaited them both. It could see her too. It shifted slightly, and the scrape of talon on stone echoed in the cave. _'Kneel.'_

Sif fell to her knees. Beside her, Saphira bent her forelegs and laid her head on the ground. _'Sire.'_

There was a growl, and the cave suddenly brightened. Pale grey light sprang up, illuminating the walls and ceiling, and the two of them, abasing themselves before their lord and master.

Sif could feel his presence hanging over her, and her heart pattered frantically. She felt as if she were going to faint.

'_Rise,'_ the voice rasped. _'Look at me.'_

Sif obeyed. And as she raised her head, the first thing she saw was the face of King Ravana, Lord of Alagaësia.


	2. Duty Calls

**Chapter Two**

**Duty Calls**

There was a low rumbling in the cave, like distant thunder, as the King stood up.

'_Rise,'_ his voice growled again.

Sif dared to stand and look at him, unconsciously moving closer to Saphira as she did so.

The massive dragon filled the cave, his great, humped back nearly touching the ceiling. His scales – rough and lustreless with age – were pitch black, and so were the membranes of the huge ragged wings folded loosely just over his flanks. Each of the front paws resting on the cave flaw was as big as Saphira's entire body, the talons chipped and blunt, digging into the stone as if it were nothing but earth. Somewhere in the back of the cave his tail flicked restlessly, making a slapping sound as it struck the wall.

Sif said nothing. She stood as still as she could, looking up at him, not daring to do anything but wait until he broke the silence. She had only been this close to the King six years ago, when she and her fellow riders had taken their oaths to serve him. He had never shown any further interest in her until now.

Ravana lowered his snout toward her and Saphira. It brushed against them as he sniffed, the sound of air being sucked into his enormous nostrils quite audible. His face was heavy and brutal, crowned by six long, yellowed horns. They had been decorated with bands of pure gold set with red gems, and served as his only emblem of office. An ordinary crown would have looked absurd perched atop a head of that size.

The eyes, pure gold and each big enough to drown in, focused on Sif, who went rigid with fear. She could feel his hot breath blowing on her face, smelling faintly of old meat. Two fangs jutted from his lower jaw, each one nearly as long as her arm. She knew that, if he wanted to, he could kill both of them without any effort at all.

After an agonising few seconds, Ravana finally withdrew. _'So,'_ he said. _'You are Sif?'_

'_Yes, Sire.'_

'_And you… you are Saphira.'_

'_Yes, Sire,'_ said Saphira.

The King yawned, his mouth gaping wide enough to snap the blue dragon's body in half. _'I have spoken with your elders. They tell me you have completed your training.'_

'_Yes, Sire,'_ said Sif.

'_So you know how to fight?'_

'_Yes, Sire.'_

'_And you can use magic?'_

'_Yes, Sire.'_

'_You understand how to lead and administrate?'_

'_Yes, Sire.'_

Ravana settled back onto his belly. _'Good. Then you are ready to make yourself useful. I have orders for you, Saphira.'_

'_I am listening, Sire,'_ said Saphira.

'_It would be unwise for all of you to remain here any longer,'_ said Ravana. _'Therefore, I have decided that I am going to send you away.'_

Sif went cold. _'Where to, Sire?'_

Ravana ignored her. _'Skarlath and Rose have already had their orders,'_ he said, still addressing Saphira._ 'They are leaving the city as soon as they have prepared, and will go with their riders to Teirm and Dras-Leona to serve as my agents there. As for you, I am sending you North.'_

Saphira touched Sif with her snout to comfort her. _'North, Sire?'_

'_You must watch over the forest of Du Weldenvarden,'_ said Ravana. _'I believe that there could still be elves living there. You must be there and ready to alert us if they do emerge. You must do this from the city of Gil'ead. Govern it and see it remains stable.'_

Saphira hesitated. _'Sire… I am not sure if we are ready for it.'_

'_You will do as I command, and if you are not ready I shall relieve you of your duties. Until then, those are your orders, Saphira. You must leave tomorrow.'_

Sif felt as if she had been struck in the stomach. _'But Sire-,'_

Ravana growled, the noise rumbling in his chest. _'I am your King, and you will not question me, human. If you defy me, you shall be punished.'_

Sif closed her eyes. _'Yes, Sire.'_

'_Then you shall do as I have ordered,'_ said Ravana, lowering his head onto his foreclaws and closing his eyes. _'You may go now.'_

Saphira bowed her head to him and turned away. _'Come on.'_

Sif walked with her out of the cave. She didn't say anything until they were away from the mountain and past the screen of trees, where Silarae and Nasuada were waiting.

'How did it go?' said Nasuada.

Sif stared at the ground. 'He said he wants me and Saphira to go to Gil'ead.'

Nasuada sighed. 'I had a feeling he might.'

Sif looked up. 'You mean you _knew?'_

'I suspected. Carnoc and Jarsha have already been ordered to leave, and I had a feeling that you might have to do the same.'

'But I don't want to go!' said Sif. 'I can't govern a city, I'm only sixteen!'

Nasuada pulled her into a hug. 'Hush. It's all right, Sif. You'll be fine. You're a rider.'

'But I don't want to be away from you,' said Sif. She could feel herself starting to cry.

'I won't be far away,' said Nasuada. 'Gil'ead is only a few day's flight away from Ilirea; if you ever need me I can be there in no time.'

'But I want to stay here,' Sif wailed. '_This_ is my home, not Gil'ead!'

Nasuada let go of her. 'Stop that. You're not a child any more, Sif, you're a grown woman. If you were a peasant you'd be married by now. You already knew you'd be expected to help lead this country.'

'But how am I supposed to govern a city?' said Sif. 'I don't kn-,'

'You know everything you need to know. Murtagh and I taught you all the leadership skills you'll need.'

'Yes, but I've never _led_.'

'It doesn't matter. You'll get used to it in no time. And Saphira will be there to help you. Anyway, you don't think you're going to have to just do everything on your own straight away, do you? There'll be officials there to help you learn about the city, and the old governor can help you find your feet before he retires. It'll be fine, I promise.'

'I still don't want to go.'

'You'll be fine,' Nasuada said again. 'Now come on. We have to go back to the city.'

They made the flight back in silence, and Sif didn't really cry until she broke the news to Murtagh.

Her adopted father was sympathetic. 'I know this is a bit of a shock to you, Sif, but there's no need to cry.'

Sif tried to control her sobs. 'I d- I d- I'm not _ready._ I want to st… I don't want…'

'Look,' Murtagh grasped her shoulder. 'Sif, please listen to me. Stop crying. Look at me.'

Sif managed to obey and stared at him with mute appeal, her face wet with tears.

'You have to understand that this isn't about you,' Murtagh said gently. 'It's about the country and its people. You are not an ordinary person, Sif, even if you're young. You are a rider. None of us are ordinary people. From the moment we are bonded to our dragons, it is our responsibility to take care of those of us who are not riders, and who need us to guide and protect them.'

'But what if we don't _want_ to?' said Sif. 'I didn't ask to be a rider! It's not _fair!'_

Saphira could hear her, and shared a feeling of hurt. _'Sif, please don't say that.'_

'_It's not like that,' _Sif told her hastily. _'I don't mean I don't want to be your rider, Saphira. It's just…'_ She stopped and reverted to normal speech. 'But why should being bonded to a dragon mean we have to lead people?'

'Because we have power,' said Murtagh. 'And power is a thing that must be used responsibly, whether we like it or not. Power isn't given to us so we can do what we like with it. Do you know the name for someone who has power but only uses it for his own benefit?'

'No,' said Sif.

'Evil,' Murtagh said flatly. 'You aren't evil, are you, Sif?'

'No!'

'Well then stop being selfish,' said Murtagh.

'I'm _not_ selfish!'

'Aren't you? Then why are you refusing to go and help people who need you?'

Sif fell silent, glaring at him. She wanted to protest, but Murtagh calm, dark-eyed gaze stopped her.

'I didn't say that,' she mumbled eventually.

'Good.'

'I just don't know if I can do it,' said Sif.

'All you can do is your best,' said Murtagh. 'And I trust you to do that. Go and talk it over with Saphira. I'm sure she'll have come good advice for you.'

Sif nodded and trudged away.

Up on the dragon roost, Saphira enveloped her with one wing in a protective gesture. _'We can do it,'_ she said.

Sif rested her face against the dragon's warm scales. _'Why are you so sure?'_

Saphira shared a feeling of deep love. _'Because I trust you, Sif. I wouldn't have bonded myself to someone weak or stupid.'_

That cheered her up a little. _'I suppose we can just try it. I just don't want to be away from Mother, or Murtagh.'_

'_They won't be far away,'_ Saphira reminded her. _'Anyway… think how proud they'll be when they find out how well you governed Gil'ead.'_

Sif said nothing.

'_Look,'_ said Saphira, _'You don't want to just stay here for the rest of your life, do you? When there's so much out there?'_

'_I suppose not,'_ said Sif.

Saphira raised her wings slightly, as if trying to imitate a human shrug. _'I mean, imagine it!'_ she enthused. _'Us, governing a city! We can have everything our own way – no-one telling us what to do! We can give people orders, and have feasts and dances whenever we want, and go flying over Du Weldenvarden and see the old elvish cities, and you can have the castle tailor make you all the dresses you want, and your mother won't be there to tell you you're not allowed to get a second wardrobe… it would be wonderful!'_

Sif perked up. _'You really think we can do all that?'_

'_Of course we can! Who's going to stop us?'_ Saphira nuzzled Sif in the shoulder. _'You and me, Sif. We're going to do great things together. We'll make the others proud of us, we'll prove that we're not just hatchlings any more, and we'll enjoy ourselves while we're doing it. Just you wait and see.'_

Saphira's voice and presence – both radiating optimism and good cheer – did the trick. Sif started to smile again. _'You're right, Saphira. We can do it. When we get there, I'll order them to organise a big dance to welcome us. Outside, so you can be there too. And everyone will wear their best clothes, and we'll have roast boar and sugared cherries and we'll dance all night long, and…'_

Saphira chuckled. _'See? You're excited already!'_

Sif stood up. _'I'm going to go and tell Mother I'm all right now and I can go. And then I should go and start packing my bags. I'll come up here and eat my dinner with you, and we can make plans.'_

'_All right.'_

Sif patted Saphira's shoulder and left with a new spring in her step. The blue dragon watched her go, bright-eyed. She loved her rider and the honest way she had of dealing with things. She was young – the youngest rider left anywhere in the world – but that did not make her weak or unworthy. Saphira had never once regretted having chosen her.

Sif too was feeling happy about her situation as she went back down the stairs, drying her face and straightening her clothes along the way. She was still unhappy about leaving home, but now she knew she could put that feeling aside and think of better things. Not for the first time, she reflected on how happy she was to have Saphira. Being a rider wasn't always easy, and the relationship it entailed was demanding and sometimes painful, but Sif could not imagine life without her dragon. Saphira had always been there for her, to share her joys and sorrows, to protect her from danger and reassure her when she was frightened or unhappy. And Sif knew that she always would be there. She would not leave her, not ever, not for a day, and though they had argued in the past they had always come back together again, unable to bear being apart. Sif knew that, though leaving home would be painful, her new life would not be anywhere near as hard or lonely as it could have been. Not when she had Saphira by her side.

She found Nasuada in her study, writing a letter, and hugged her without saying anything.

Nasuada hugged her back. 'Well, hello. Are you feeling better now?'

Sif nodded as she let go. 'I talked to Saphira. We've decided we'll be all right. Going to Gil'ead, I mean.'

Nasuada smiled. 'I knew she would be able to make you feel better. So you think you're ready to be a governor?'

'Yes. I think so.'

'Well, that's great news,' said Nasuada. 'I'm just writing a letter to the old governor giving him the order to step down. In the meantime, you'd better go and pack your bags. I'm organising a special dinner tonight.'

Sif nodded. 'I'm just going to go tell Father first.'

Nasuada smiled a little sadly. 'Good idea. I think he'd like some company.'

Sif left the study, sensing her mother wanted to be left alone to finish her work. Rather than taking the stairs up to the living quarters, she made for the lower levels of the castle; past the dining hall and then downward, past the servant's quarters and the kitchens and toward the underground portions of the castle, where the dungeons and the wine-cellars and the latrine pits were. Beyond them, tucked away in a dark subterranean corridor, there was a large, heavy wooden door studded with nails.

Sif muttered a word to unlock it before she opened it, revealing a yawning darkness beyond, its air still and cold and smelling of old stone. A flight of steps led down into it.

'_Ljós!_'

Pale blue light glowed in the palm of Sif's hand. She concentrated until it had become bright enough to illuminate the walls of the passage and then entered, holding her hand up to show the way. The passage was very narrow – deliberately made that way to make it easier to navigate in the dark – but the stairs underfoot were worn smooth. They were over a thousand years old, and countless other feet had trod here before hers. They ended deep below ground in a wide stone passage, its floor and ceiling perfectly flat. At first it looked quite ordinary, but a few moments of observation revealed something odd.

There were no joins anywhere in the stone. No marks to show individual blocks or tiles. And there was not a single torch, candle-holder or lantern anywhere, and nor were there any places where one could have been placed. This place had been made by magic, and only those who had magic had been intended to use it.

Sif set out, following the passage. It was not completely featureless. Spaced at intervals along its walls were the carvings – each one life-sized and minutely detailed, depicting a human or elf. Each one bore a sword and had a dragon beside them, and each was marked with a name. Sif had seen them all dozens of times and knew most of the names, and as she passed through that first section of passageway she kept her eyes on the left-hand wall, forcing herself not to look to the right. There was an odd, tight feeling in her chest.

It only went reluctantly, once she was well past the spot and allowed herself to relax and look ahead again. She knew exactly where she was going, and mentally catalogued the names on the walls as she passed, marking them off in her mind until…

She stopped and held out her hand, palm-forward, so that the light from the silver oval on her palm illuminated the wall to her left. The carving there was of a young human, snub-nosed with a small chin and tousled hair, his expression locked into an ambiguous half-smile, eyes staring at nothing. Beside him was a slim and elegant-looking female dragon.

Sif examined the carving as she had done a hundred times before, searching the man's face as if trying to find something there. Beside him, the sharp runes cut into the stone spelled out his name. _Eragon._ And by the dragon was her own. _Saphira._

Sif sighed. 'Hello, Father. It's me.'

She sat down cross-legged in front of the tomb and closed her eyes, trying to visualise the way her father had looked in life. She had never met him. All she had ever seen of him was his dead body, down here in the crypts, washed and dressed in ceremonial armour, ready to be entombed. Sif could still dimly remember how pale his face had looked. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on that she could not banish the other part of the memory, nor forget the shadow that had always loomed over it. She could not forget that voice.

'It's me,' she said again, trying not to think of it. 'Sif. I'm sorry I didn't come and see you sooner. I promise I didn't forget about you. I wanted to come.' She fell silent, as if waiting for a response. 'I went to see the King today,' she went on. 'He sent for me and Saphira.' Sif sighed. 'Father, I'm sorry, but he told me I have to leave. I'm going to go and govern Gil'ead, and I don't know when I'll come back. The King wants me to watch out for elves coming out of the forest. I don't think there are any. Mother says the Shades killed them all. I know you liked them, Father, but _he _doesn't. He made a law. If any elves come into his lands, they have to be killed. He hates them.' She shivered. 'I hope none of them come. I don't want to kill anyone.'

Sif opened her eyes and looked up at the carving of her father's faintly-smiling face.

'I wouldn't do it, Father, I swear. I'll be brave and good like you, and I won't let anything bad happen again. I'll fight if I have to.'

Silence.

Sif stood up. 'Well,' she mumbled, suddenly embarrassed, 'I should go now. I have to get ready to go. But I'll come back tomorrow before I leave, and bring you come more flowers. I promise.' She paused and touched the carved face. 'Goodnight, Father,' she added softly, and left.

Somehow, visiting her father's tomb always made her feel stronger inside. Though deep down she admitted to herself that it was a little childish, she couldn't help but go and talk to him occasionally. She felt guilty whenever she went too long without going into the crypts, as if her father was aware of her visits and would be hurt if she didn't come. And she knew that her mother came from time to time. To cry, maybe. Sif had never had the courage to ask her. Her father had died very young, and Nasuada had witnessed it. Sif could not imagine what that must have been like.

Lost in thought, she had forgotten to look away as she walked through the last part of the crypt corridor leading to the stairs. Her eye was instantly caught by the gaping hole in the wall, and she pulled up short, unable to stop herself.

The hole was about waist height, perfectly rectangular and big enough for a man to lie down in. It had cut the carving there in half, leaving only the torso, head and shoulders of a human boy. His face was angular, coldly handsome, the eyes watchful. Long, curly hair reached down to his shoulders, and there was a sword in one hand. The name carved alongside it was _Arren Cardockson._ The dragon, female and graceful-looking, was _Laela._

Sif stood and stared at the carving, feeling a hot, sick churning in her stomach. This was the oldest open tomb in the crypts. The slab intended to seal it shut had long since been lost; she had looked for it more than once. She wished she had it. She could not bear to look into the darkness inside the tomb, but it dragged her eyes toward it every time she came this way. She wanted it to be sealed.

But talking with her father had made her feel braver, and she let her fear turn to anger. She spat, something she normally never did.

'Murderer.'

The carved eyes over the tomb seemed to watch her as she left.

There had been no time to organise a proper feast to mark Sif's departure, but that night she ate with her fellow riders in the dining hall and they did their best to make it a kind of celebration. Her mother, who had become a kind of unofficial leader to her fellow riders, sat at the head of the table with Murtagh on one side of her and Sif on the other, and Carnoc and Jarsha, the other two riders, were there too, though Sif was a little relieved to see that her half-brother wasn't.

Jarsha and Carnoc were both unhappy about leaving – Jarsha a little more so than his elder. 'It's weird,' he said. 'I used to feel really out of place here, but now I've got to leave…'

'I know what you mean,' said Carnoc. 'I'm so used to being around all of you-,' glancing at his fellow riders, '-I can't imagine living away from you.' He sighed.

'That's it, though, isn't it?' said Jarsha. 'We're the only riders in the world. We're not really human any more, so how can we ever feel at home with humans? We're the only ones who understand each other.'

Murtagh sighed. 'Yes… I know what you mean.'

'But we're lucky,' Sif put in. 'We have our dragons. We're never alone. If I didn't have Saphira to come with me, I wouldn't leave.'

Carnoc nodded. 'It's the same for me. Rose and I talked it over after we were given our orders. She didn't want to leave here; she wanted to stay with the other dragons, especially her father. But we both knew duty ought to come first, and at least we've got each other.' He paused, and smiled at some comment the red dragon had made in the privacy of their minds.

'You know, I can always tell when you're talking to Rose,' said Sif. 'You get a funny look on your face.'

Carnoc grinned. 'So, what did you and Saphira decide? D'you think you've got it in you to govern a city?'

'We're going to do our best,' said Sif.

'That's the right attitude,' Carnoc said approvingly. 'I'm sure you'll do fine.'

'I'm not so sure about how well _I'll_ do,' said Jarsha, gloomily pouring himself another cup of wine.

'Well enough,' said Murtagh. 'Governing a city isn't as hard as it looks. Mostly it's just paperwork and talking to people. The most challenging part is dealing with the boredom, most of the time.'

'I don't know why the King didn't send _you_ to do it,' said Jarsha. 'You're the one who knows about this sort of thing.'

'I suppose so, but he told me he needs me here,' said Murtagh. 'I don't think…' he glanced at Nasuada and fell silent.

'The King trusts Murtagh more than he does me,' Nasuada interrupted.

'You didn't have to tell them that.'

She shrugged. 'It's only to be expected. It was Murtagh who served Queen Skade for five years, not me.'

There was silence for a few moments.

'I wonder where they went,' Carnoc said eventually.

'Away over the sea,' said Nasuada. 'Who knows what's out there? It doesn't matter. They won't come back.'

'How do you know?' said Sif.

'Many people have gone away over the sea, Sif,' said Nasuada. 'None of them ever returned.'

'Yes they have,' said Murtagh. 'The Queen came back, and so did her father and his clan. The – Galbatorix went there himself once and came back.'

'But he won't come back this time,' said Nasuada.

'What makes you so certain about that?' said Carnoc.

'Because he told me he wouldn't,' said Nasuada. 'On the day he left, he said; "You won't ever see me again. No matter what's out there, no matter where I end up, I shall die there".'

'Six years,' Carnoc muttered. 'I wonder what sort of place he ended up in?'

'I used to think he'd come back,' said Sif. 'I had nightmares about it.'

'Well he won't,' said Nasuada. 'And if he ever does, I won't let him go anywhere near you.'

'I'll kill him,' said Sif. 'If he ever comes back, I'll kill him. I promised Father I would.'

Nasuada glared at her. 'Don't talk like that, Sif. Never.'

Sif glared back defiantly. 'He murdered Father. You told me he did.'

'That's different,' said Nasuada. 'You aren't him, Sif. He did many good things for this country as well. He made us riders in the first place, and we should never forget that.'

'I never knew if I really hated him,' said Carnoc. 'I kept thinking I did. After what he did. But I never really believed that I did hate him. I couldn't.'

'He was a hard man to know,' said Murtagh. 'And even harder to like. But he always did what he believed was right. He put it before everything else. Even other people's lives.'

'Well I hate him,' said Sif.

Nasuada started to speak, but then sighed and shook her head wordlessly.

Sif went back to her food, defiantly anticipating some kind of reaction from her mother, but none came. After the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortable length Carnoc made an attempt at resuming the conversation, but it was clear that the good cheer had gone out of the atmosphere and not much more was said until the meal was over and Nasuada announced that she was off to bed.

Sif headed for her own room, feeling inexplicably heavy-hearted. She wished she hadn't said what she'd said, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. And why should she have?

Saphira was listening. _'Stop it, Sif.'_

'_Stop what?'_ Sif snapped back, opening the door to her room.

'_I know how you feel about what happened, and I understand, but there's no point in being like this. He's gone. Understand? He's gone and he isn't coming back, and brooding about it isn't going to solve anything. Just leave it be. Forget about it.'_

Sif sat down on the bed. _'But what if he does come back?'_

'_He won't.'_


	3. Gil'ead

**Chapter Three**

**Gil'ead**

Sif left Ilirea early the next morning, while the sun was still rising. Saphira stood patiently while her partner's luggage was attached to her saddle, her wings rustling from time to time. Sif tried to say goodbye to her mother, but it was much more difficult than she had thought it would be.

'It's all right, Sif,' said Nasuada, trying to comfort her daughter. 'You're fine. Saphira will take care of you.'

'I know,' said Sif. 'I mean…' she sighed, trying not to cry.

'Here.' Nasuada held little Eragon out toward her. 'Say goodbye to your brother. He got out of bed early just to see you off.'

Eragon reached out a pudgy hand. 'Sif!'

Sif smiled and grasped it. 'I'll miss you too, Ergy.'

'Don't call him that,' said Nasuada.

Sif shrugged. 'That's how he says it.'

Eragon giggled. He had inherited his father Murtagh's dark brown eyes, but his skin was fairer than his sister's.

Sif sighed again and rubbed her eyes. She found her brother annoying most of the time, but she knew she was going to miss him. She was going to miss everything about her old home. 'I'll write to you every day,' she told her mother. 'I promise.'

'And so will I,' said Nasuada. 'I'll tell you everything that happens here while you're away, and you can ask me whenever you need advice.'

'How long will it take to get there?' said Sif. It hadn't occurred to her to ask earlier.

'About two days,' said Murtagh. 'Flying at a sensible pace. You could do it in one and a half if you pushed yourself, but it's not necessary and Saphira wouldn't like it. You should only ever do that sort of thing if it's an emergency.' He finished tightening the strap holding Sif's bag of clothes onto the saddle, and stood back. 'Well, I'm finished. You're all ready.'

Nasuada hugged her tightly. 'You take care of yourself, understand? Eat plenty of vegetables, go to bed at a sensible hour, and if you meet someone special… well be level-headed about it, all right?'

Sif managed a smile. 'Don't worry, Mother, I know all about that. I _would_ like to get married someday, though,' she added, half to herself.

'And I'm sure you will, when you find the man who's right for you,' said Nasuada. 'Now off you go. Don't keep Saphira waiting any longer.'

Sif let go of her and embraced Murtagh, taking him by surprise. 'You look after Mother and Ergy, won't you, Murtagh?'

Murtagh overcame his usual reserve and returned the hug. 'Of course I will. You don't have to worry about a thing, Sif. They're safe with me.'

'I don't mind that you're not my father, you know,' Sif added, letting go. 'I never have. I think Father would have been happy that you were helping take care of me.'

Murtagh sighed. 'I hope he would have. We never got on particularly well, him and I. But he was still my brother and I never could hate him. He drove us all a little mad from time to time, but he was good-hearted.'

'And I'm sure he cared about you too,' said Sif. 'You're brave and good and I love you, Uncle.'

Murtagh's face lit up with a rare smile. 'Thankyou, Sif. I'm sure you'll make a wonderful governor.'

Sif kissed her mother and half-brother, pecked Murtagh on the cheek, and then climbed into Saphira's saddle. She was wearing a thick woollen dress with long sleeves, and a heavy cloak to protect her from the cold, and Íssbrandr was strapped to her back. She was ready.

Saphira nuzzled her fellow dragons farewell and took off, and then they were in the air, soaring up over Ilirea and circling round so that Sif could wave to the others. Thorn, Silarae, Rose and Skarlath raised their heads and roared, and Saphira roared back before she turned herself in the air and flew away from Ilirea, heading North.

On her back, Sif wiped away the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes. _'Well… off we go, then.'_

Saphira shared a feeling of warm confidence. _'Yes. I hope you know how important today is for both of us, Sif.'_

'_Of course I do.'_

'_I thought you did. From today…' _Saphira sighed. _'Today we leave youth behind and fly toward adulthood. When we come back to Ilirea we'll have grown up, you and I. We'll never be hatchlings again.'_

Somehow that gave Sif confidence. _'Yes, Saphira. You're right. When we get to Gil'ead there won't be anyone telling us what to do. It'll all be up to us. Lady Sif. I'll be Lady Sif.'_

The journey, true to Murtagh's prediction, took two days. They reached Bullridge by evening and stayed in the little fort there for the night, and at dawn the next day they resumed the journey. Sif slept well that night. She had expected to be miserable with homesickness, but that did not happen. Caught up in all the excitement of being out on the road with Saphira for the first time, she had no time to feel miserable. There was too much to do and too much to think of for that. While they were in the air on the second day, though, she grew bored and began to feel the first stirrings of unhappiness. To distract herself, she talked to Saphira about the dance they would hold when they reached Gil'ead. Planning for it helped to cheer her up and make the destination look more attractive, and Saphira had plenty of good suggestions.

'_Musicians,'_ she said. _'We'll have lots of musicians. What sort of instruments, though?'_

'_Pipes,'_ Sif said immediately. _'Flutes. And drums. You need a good strong rhythm, for dancing. Maybe some harps?'_

'_They wouldn't carry so well in the open air, though,'_ said Saphira. _'Are you sure you want to hold it out of doors?'_

'_Yes,'_ Sif said firmly. Her mental picture of what it would look like was far too strong to let her change her mind now. She could already see the torchlight shining on the surface of the lake, and the stars.

'_Well maybe you could use magic to amplify the sound,'_ said Saphira. _'What d'you think?'_

'_That could work,'_ said Sif. _'I bet I could think of something. And then there's the dances. What sorts do you think we should do?'_

'_All of them,'_ said Saphira.

'_What, really all of them?'_

'_Yes, why not?'_

'_Yes, why not?'_ Sif echoed. _'Yes. That's a good idea. We'll do partnered dancing, and circles, and I'll show all the young noblemen my butterfly step.'_

Saphira grinned mentally. _'I wonder how many of them will ask to dance with you?'_

'_All of them,'_ Sif said immediately.

'_But of course,'_ said Saphira. _'How could they possibly resist the charms of a girl like you?'_

'_Are you making fun of me?'_

'_Would I do a thing like that?'_ Saphira asked innocently.

Sif giggled. _'Yes. But you're right anyway. I'll have my tailor make me a new gown, with silk and sapphires on it, and-,'_

'_Oh dear.'_

'_What? I can have a new gown if I want to!'_

'_That's not what I meant,'_ said Saphira. _'Look.'_

Sif looked around, but failed to see anything. _'What am I supposed to be looking at?'_

'_Look at the sky up ahead,'_ said Saphira. _'Here, use my eyes.'_ She flashed an image into Sif's mind.

Up ahead, much more easily visible to a dragon's eyes, there was a kind of dark smudge sitting on the horizon. Sif examined it uncertainly. _'What is it?'_

'_That dark shape on the ground, that's Gil'ead,'_ said Saphira.

Sif started to feel excited. _'So we're nearly there?'_

'_Yes, in less than an hour, but I'm not so happy about that other thing I can see.'_

'_Why, what is it?'_

'_That smudge in the sky above it,'_ said Saphira. _'It's clouds.'_

'_So?'_

'_I'll be more certain when we're closer, but that amount of cloud usually means bad weather.'_

Sif's heart sank. _'Not rain?'_

'_Maybe. But there's no need to despair just yet. It could be a passing thing. I'll let you know when we're closer.'_

Sif held on anxiously, watching the sky ahead as they flew on. After a while Gil'ead became visible to her too – she could see the towers of the castle at its centre. She could also see the dark, gloomy mass lurking stubbornly above it.

'_Oh gods damn it,'_ said Saphira.

'_What is it?'_ said Sif, with an unpleasant stab of anticipation.

'_It's worse than I thought. Sif, that's a storm we're heading into.'_

'_Gods damn it!'_

Saphira winced at the mental shout. _'I know. I'm sorry.'_

'_Could it clear up?'_ Sif asked hopefully.

'_I don't know, but right now the dance is the least of our worries. If there's high winds I'll have trouble landing. And-,'_

The sky around them lit up in a split second. Sif felt Saphira's fear freeze her own stomach, and she tensed in the saddle, clinging on tightly with her heart pounding.

A few moments later there was thunder, growling threateningly up ahead.

Saphira muttered a dragonish swearword. _'All right. All right. Just… calm down, Sif, we're all right.'_

'_What are we going to do?'_ Sif almost wailed.

Saphira angled her wings and flew lower. _'It's all right. I can do this, don't worry. I can handle it. Hold on tight. I'm going to try and fly through the storm.'_

'_No! Saphira, we'll be killed!'_

'_I know what I'm doing,'_ Saphira snapped. _'Don't distract me.'_

They entered the storm. Sif felt the wind pick up dramatically, pulling at her hair, carrying drops of icy water with it. They splattered onto her face and blew back into her hair, moving at such great speed that they almost hurt. She crouched low in the saddle, flattening herself along Saphira's outstretched neck, heedless of the dragon's spines.

The next flash of lightning was brighter than the last; pure white and blinding. Sif cringed and closed her eyes tightly, red lights flashing on the inside of the lids. The thunder that followed was much closer this time – frighteningly close. Sif could feel Saphira bucking beneath her. The wind was buffeting at her wings, throwing her around in the sky.

It was raining in earnest now. The drops felt like tiny ice arrows hitting her face. The wind was dragging at her too, trying to pull her out of the saddle, and lightning flashed again…

Sif started to panic. _'Saphira!'_

Saphira lurched alarmingly. _'It's all right!' _she called back. _'Sif, it's all right! It's just a bit of wind, I'm strong enough to deal with that!'_

The light flashed again. This time the thunder broke directly overhead, deafeningly loud, as if the sky itself were tearing apart. Sif screamed. _'We're going to get hit by lightning!'_

'_No! Sif, it's all right! I promise you-,'_

The next roll of thunder was like an explosion, and Saphira suddenly began to fall out of the sky.

'_SAPHIRA!'_

'_Sif, it's sheet lightning! It can't hit us! Hold on!'_

Sif held on with all her might, ears ringing, her clothes soaking wet, so terrified she couldn't even feel the pain of the spines on Saphira's neck digging into the soft skin of her upper chest. They were falling, she could feel them dropping out the sky, they were going to crash…

Saphira's talons hit solid ground with a thud that travelled right up her body and into Sif's, but it took her several seconds to realise that they were no longer flying.

'_Sif? Sif, are you all right?'_

Sif raised her head. The storm was still raging, but now it was above rather than around them, and she realised with a sudden start that they were all right. Saphira had landed on a flat stone surface atop a massive tower at the very centre of Gil'ead, and people were running toward them.

Sif fumbled with the straps holding her legs in place, and half-fell out of the saddle. Instantly the people were there, surrounding her, shouting above the howl of the wind.

'My Lady! My Lady, are you all right? Please, you must-,'

Sif broke away from them and ran to Saphira's head, stumbling slightly. _'Saphira! Are you all right? Are you hurt?'_

Saphira had flopped onto her belly and was lying there, panting. But she raised her head and looked at her, bright-eyed. _'We made it! Whoo!'_

Sif crouched, touching her head. _'Are you all right, Saphira?'_

'_Fine. Sif, I did it! I told you I could do it!'_

The blue dragon was practically radiating triumph and excitement, and that helped to calm Sif down. _'Gods, I thought we were going to die.'_

'_Yes, I could feel how scared you were. But don't worry, Sif, we made it. We beat that storm together. See? I told you we could do it!'_

Sif managed a grin. _'Are you sure you're all right?'_

'_Yes, I'm fine, I swear. I just need to rest.'_

'_But you can't sleep here in the rain,'_ said Sif.

'_Oh, it's all right. I'm used to sleep outdoors, even when it's raining. I don't feel the cold much. I'm fine. You just go inside and get warm. Don't want to risk you catching something, do we?'_

The people who had been waiting for them were keeping their distance, frightened of Saphira. Sif removed her bags and threw them aside and then unstrapped the dragon's saddle. As soon as it was off Saphira curled up, wrapping her tail around herself and spreading her wings to protect her head from the rain. The wind was still catching at them, but nowhere near strongly enough to unbalance her. She was all right.

As soon as Sif was away from her, the people who'd been waiting closed in on her again, wrapping her in a blanket and asking anxious questions as they led her away toward the trapdoor that led into the castle. A couple of servants were already taking charge of her luggage, and in spite of her anxiety she allowed herself to be taken inside.

Saphira yawned as she was helped down the ladder. _'Sleep well, Sif.'_

It was warm and dry inside the tower. The man who'd put the blanket around her took a small flask from his belt and gave it to her. 'Here, drink this, my Lady, to warm yourself up.'

Sif drank. It was some kind of alcohol. It had a sweet, spicy flavour and warmed her from end to end. 'Thankyou,' she said, giving it back.

'It is not a problem, my Lady. Is there anything we should do for your dragon?'

Sif pulled the blanket more tightly around herself. 'Have someone take some warm water up to her, and some meat. She likes venison.'

'At once, my Lady,' said the man, nodding to one of the servants, who hurried off.

Sif walked down the stairs, shivering and dripping on the floor.

'We're very glad that you arrived safely, my Lady,' said the man who'd spoken before. He was finely-dressed, though rather wet himself, and spoke earnestly. 'If I may introduce myself… I am Lord Oswald Theremin, the previous governor of the city, and I welcome you to Gil'ead.'

'Thankyou, Lord Theremin,' said Sif, remembering her etiquette. 'It is an honour to be here.' She looked at the other two nobles who were accompanying Lord Theremin. 'And you are?'

'Lord Sethin Dirke, my Lady,' said one.

'And I am Lord Aldrin Walden, my Lady,' said the other.

Sif regarded him. 'You are descended from the Lord Walden who lived in Urû'baen under the former King?'

'Yes, my Lady. During the Shade War my family fled to Gil'ead. We are loyal servants to King Ravana the Night Dragon, and to yourself and your fellow riders, and-,'

'Yes, yes, I believe you,' said Sif.

'I am sorry, my Lady, I did not intend… I am sorry.'

'It's all right. I'm just tired, that's all.'

'Well, we are well prepared to see to your needs, my Lady,' Lord Theremin said smoothly.

This was quickly proven to be true. Sif was shown to the chambers that had been furnished in readiness to receive her, where there was a good fire burning. Her luggage was brought in and unpacked with astonishing speed, and her clothes – damp in spite of the waterproof bags they had been in – were taken away to be cleaned and dried. In the meantime she was provided with a bathtub full of steaming-hot water, aromatic with cleansing herbs, and a fine new gown to wear. Once she had washed and dressed she was guided to the dining hall, where there was hot soup and bread and almond milk pudding to follow – her favourite. She ate heartily and drank several cupfuls of mulled wine, and finally retired to her room, warm, well-fed and wonderfully drowsy.

The rain drumming on the window of her new bedchamber would not let her forget Saphira. She tried to make mental contact with her, but found the blue dragon's mind was full of a kind of gentle mist with faint images moving through it. She was asleep, and dreaming too, by the looks of it.

Reassured, Sif put on her nightdress and got into bed. She had been considering sitting up for a while and writing a letter home to tell her mother that she had arrived safely, but the moment her head hit the pillows she changed her mind. She managed to rouse herself enough to snuff out the candle, and then she snuggled down and let sleep bear her away.

Sif found herself wandering through the crypts in her dreams that night. She was looking for her father's tomb, but somehow the corridors never seemed to end. She kept trying to turn the corner that led to it, but every time she did the corridor would turn again and she realised she was going in circles. She had forgotten to bring flowers to him as she'd promised to, and she had to get there, but she was holding them too tightly and the stems were breaking in her grip, and she couldn't make herself be more gentle. They were going to be ruined, and…

Saphira's blue shape suddenly rose up out of the darkness, interrupting the dream. _Sif! Sif!_

Sif stopped and held the flowers out toward her. _Saphira, I broke the flowers, can you…_

_Sif, you're dreaming. Wake up, Sif…_

'…_Sif? SIF? Sif, can you hear me?'_

Sif sat up in bed, utterly bewildered. _'What? What's…? Saphira?'_

Saphira shared a feeling of relief. _'Thank the sky, I thought you'd never wake up!'_

Sif lay back, heart pounding. It was almost completely dark, but she could still sense that this was not her room.

'_You're in Gil'ead,'_ Saphira reminded her. _'Sif, get up, quickly.'_

Sif struggled out of bed, galvanised into action by the dragon's voice. _'What's going on?'_

'_There's a dragon in the lake,'_ said Saphira.

Sif stopped. _'What are you talking about?'_

'_You heard me. I think it's hurt. Come on, hurry!'_

Sif hastily summoned up a magical light and pulled on her shoes as fast as she could. She found her cloak hanging up by the fire where she'd left it, and draped it over her shoulders. It was still damp, but warm enough, and she picked up her sword and ran out of the room. Out in the corridor outside, she began to panic. She didn't know which way to go… upstairs. It had to be upstairs…

'_Go left!'_ Saphira shouted.

Sif didn't hesitate. She ran in that direction, turned a corner, found the stairs to the roost and dashed up at them, taking them two at a time. She reached the ladder, climbed it and shoved it open, emerging into the night air. It was still raining heavily, and there was the occasional rumble of thunder from overhead, but the storm had slackened off.

Saphira was waiting for her. _'Quick, get on my back.'_

Sif needed no further prompting. She scrambled onto the dragon's back, tucking the loose ends of the cloak under her legs to protect them from her scales, and Saphira kicked off from the top of the roost. She flew over the lights of the city, wings pounding the air, and swooped straight toward the lake, whose churning surface reflected the lightning. As they came down to land, Sif could see what Saphira had seen, and her heart leapt into her mouth. There was something huge in the water, and it was moving.

Saphira landed clumsily by the lakeside, kicking up clumps of mud and grass. Sif jumped down and ran toward the water with the blue dragon close on her heels.

The dragon's back half was still submerged, and its head, neck and forelegs were in the shallows. It was struggling to drag itself out onto dry land, one wing flailing at the air. The other trailed in the water behind it, the membranes catching on its lashing tail.

Sif made straight for it, but Saphira overtook her and pulled her back. _'No, Sif. Keep back. It could be dangerous.'_

The dragon had seen them. It snarled, mouth opening slightly to reveal sharp white fangs, and redoubled its efforts to get out of the water. Saphira drew back, protecting Sif with her wing as the beast pulled itself up onto the bank. Its back legs and tail emerged, and it slumped onto its belly, gasping audibly for breath. However, when Saphira came closer, it raised its head and growled warningly at her. She growled back, keeping her distance.

'_It's a wild dragon,'_ said Sif, unable to hide her fear. _'Saphira, what are we supposed to do?'_

'_I'll try and talk to it,'_ said Saphira.

Sif did not hear what she then said to the wild dragon, but she saw its reaction. It stirred and growled again. _'Do… not come near me,'_ a voice said.

Sif started. The voice was deep and growling in a way that reminded her of the King, and unmistakeably male. But young as well. _'We're not your enemies,'_ she said, projecting the words into the dragon's mind.

The dragon started to get up, but then sighed and lay down again. _'What… what is this place?'_

'_This is Gil'ead,'_ said Sif. _'You're by Isenstar Lake. Please, we just want to help you.'_

There was tense silence for a few moments, while Sif waited with the fear that the wild dragon was going to attack. But he only lay there, apparently thinking, and then appeared to relax. _'What is your name?'_

'_I'm Sif,'_ said Sif. She nearly added "Lady Sif", but stopped herself.

'_Saphira,'_ said Saphira.

The dragon jerked slightly. _'Saphira?'_

'_Yes. Are you hurt, wild dragon?'_

He growled at her again. _'I warn you, Saphira, do not come any closer or I will attack. I am not a _tame_ dragon like you are.'_

Sif went hot with anger, but she said nothing. She didn't want to provoke him; the threat had sounded perfectly sincere.

Saphira, though, seemed to understand. _'There's no need to be like that,'_ she said. _'We are allies of the wild dragon, and honour-bound to help you.'_

He raised his head at that. _'You are?'_

'_On my word as a dragon. Please, lie still and my rider will heal your injuries.'_

The wild dragon turned his head toward Sif. _'Will you, rider?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Sif. _'I don't want to fight you, just help you.'_

He paused, and then sighed. _'All right. I accept your offer. If you want to help me, then help me.'_

Sif hesitated, glancing at Saphira. _'Don't worry,'_ said the blue dragon. _'He won't attack. I can smell the blood on him; he's badly hurt. He was only threatening us because he knew he couldn't fight.'_

Reassured, Sif came closer to the dragon. He lay still, his breathing ragged, and now she could hear the little catch of pain in it. She increased the magical glow around herself to make him more visible, and immediately winced. The dragon's back was covered in deep wounds. Something had torn clean through the scales and into the flesh beneath, and there was indeed blood on him. A lot of blood. His limp wing, too, was injured.

Sif steeled herself by thinking of how much it must be hurting him, and came closer. She tensed when he moved, but he did not try and attack her; only closed his eyes and waited.

Sif spread her hand over the torn wing. '_Waíse heill!_'

Her magic went to work. A blue glow appeared around the edges of the wound and then brightened, bringing them together. The dragon groaned softly as the flesh silently repaired itself, muscle and skin knitting together before the scales regrew over the top.

Once the wing was whole again Sif moved on to the dragon's back. There were literally dozens of wounds there, some frighteningly deep, and one had cut right through one of the thick spines between his wings, snapping it clean in half. Sif healed them one by one, not letting the magic fade until they had closed completely, but she soon began to realise that she would not have the strength to full heal all of them. She worked on, closing them sufficiently to stop the bleeding, but leaving the surface damage as it was. When she was finally done she stumbled back toward Saphira, feeling light-headed and a little dizzy. But it was done.

The rain had stopped. Overhead the sky was beginning to lighten slightly. It would be dawn in less than an hour. The wild dragon roused himself, getting to his claws and raising his head from the ground. His wing, now healed, folded neatly along with the other, and he stretched and opened his mouth wide. Sif and Saphira pulled back instinctively, but he only yawned. His jaws shut with a faint snap, and he shook himself and looked at them. His eyes, set into a blunt-snouted face with an unusually wide forehead and jutting brow, stared straight at Sif. They were jet black and disconcerting, showing no sign of pupil or white. _'Thankyou, Sif,'_ his voice said softly.

Sif bowed very slightly, not quite realising she was doing it. _'I did my duty,'_ she said.

'_I don't care why you did it,'_ said the dragon. _'I'm grateful.'_

'_Do you feel better now?'_ said Saphira.

'_Yes. But I need to rest.'_

'_You can use the dragon roost, if you like,'_ Sif offered.

He peered at her. _'Where is that?'_

'_In the city,'_ said Saphira, indicating it with her snout.

He followed her gaze and then shook his head. _'I'd rather not. I'll sleep in the forest.'_

'_It's all right,'_ said Sif. _'You'll be safe, and we can bring you food.'_

'_I can find my own,' _said the dragon.

'_You won't be in any danger. We just want to help you.'_

'_Well.'_ He watched her, tail twitching slightly. _'Well… if you want to help me, there is one thing you could do for me.'_

'_All right,'_ said Sif.

'_I want to see the King of this land,'_ said the dragon. _'You serve him, don't you?'_

'_Yes. King Ravana.'_

'_Good. I must see him. I don't know where to find him. If you could tell me which direction to fly in, I would be very grateful.'_

'_It's Southward, but why do you want to see him?'_ said Sif.

The dragon fixed her with a cool, steady gaze. _'That is for the King and I to know. All I need is a guide, or a map.'_

Sif looked uncertainly at Saphira. _'What should we do?'_ she asked, hiding the question from the wild dragon.

Saphira hesitated. _'We'd be happy to help,'_ she said at length, to the dragon.

'_Good,'_ he said in satisfied tones. _'I am going to go and sleep now. I will come and see you again when I feel stronger.' _Without waiting for an answer, he turned and trudged away along the bank, his tail dragging. When he was well away from them he took to the air with a clumsy flick of his wings and flew over the lake toward the forest, where he landed and disappeared among the trees.

Sif tried to dry her face on the edge of her cloak. _'Why did you agree to help him?'_

Saphira shrugged with her wings. _'Why shouldn't we have helped him? The wild dragons are subjects of the King as much as humans are. It's our duty to help them as well.'_

'_I suppose so, but what will everyone think if we send him to Ilirea?'_

'_They'll think we did our duty. Come on, get on my back. We should get back to the castle before everyone starts waking up.'_

'_I still don't like it,'_ said Sif as they made the flight back. _'You know how the King gets when people come to see him without being asked.'_

'_Well it's not our problem. You can warn that dragon before you send him on his way, and if he decides to annoy him anyway, let him deal with the consequences himself. We've got other things to worry about.'_ She landed on the roost with a soft click of claws, and crouched low.

'_I suppose you're right,'_ said Sif as she dismounted. She yawned. _'Gods, using all that magic made me exhausted. I'm going back to bed.'_

She found herself stumbling slightly as she headed back toward her room. The healing had taken more out of her than she'd realised. When she got back to her room and closed the door behind her, she saw the light of dawn coming in through the window. It was lighting up a clear sky. The storm was over. She could start to organise her dance today. But for now, the call of her bed proved far more alluring than even that.

She felt a curious sense of unease as she drifted back into sleep. There had been something about that dragon that had felt wrong. He'd looked more or less like any other dragon, but… those eyes…


	4. Skandar

**Chapter Four**

**Skandar**

Sif only slept for an hour or so after that, in spite of her tiredness. She had forgotten to close the curtains, and the sunlight streaming in woke her up.

She sat up, wincing as it hit her eyes. She felt tired and woozy, and her head ached. Saphira was still asleep, which made Sif's bad mood worse. She got up and dressed, muttering to herself, and wandered blearily out into the castle. The servants were quick to show her to the dining hall, where she was served a large breakfast. That helped to cheer her up.

She had finished eating and was sipping at a mug of herbal tea when a servant came hurrying in. 'My Lady!'

Sif peered at her. 'Yes, what?'

The servant stopped awkwardly, wringing her hands. 'I'm very sorry to bother you, my Lady, but…'

'But what?'

'There is someone… in the Library,' said the servant. 'I didn't know what to do… I thought he was a thief, but he told me to go and tell you to come to him, my Lady. He said you had already met.'

Sif swallowed the last of her tea. Lord Theremin, probably, wanting to get down to business. 'All right. Show me the way, please.'

'At once, my Lady.'

The library turned out to be toward the centre of the castle, behind a large pair of double doors. Several other servants were loitering anxiously in the corridor outside it.

Sif gave them an irritated look. 'What are you all doing here?'

'Sorry, my Lady,' said one. 'I just… I'll be off.'

They left, but with some evident reluctance. The one who had come with Sif opened the doors to the library, saying; 'I'll just… I'll wait just outside in case you need me, my Lady.'

Sif nodded, not really listening, and stepped into the library. It was a big, round room that occupied one of the castle's other towers, and because of the lack of windows it was quite dark. Shelves lined the walls, and there were tables set up for readers and scribes to use, but these were unoccupied. But there was also a fireplace set into one wall, with a large fire burning inside it, and the light was casting a moving shadow onto the floor.

Sif coughed politely as she moved between the tables toward it, and the shadow stopped moving. There was someone crouched on the floor in front of the fireplace, and…

Sif froze.

Sitting hunched on the rug with his back toward her was a man, naked from the waist up. There was a tunic hanging over the back of a nearby chair, and his bare back, damp and grubby but graceful with muscle, was marred by dozens of deep, raw scars, as if he had been flogged. Higher up, his narrow shoulders were half-covered by a mane of thick, curly hair that was an extraordinary silver-grey colour.

Sif found her voice. _'Who_ are _you?'_

The man paused in the act of lacing up his boots. She heard him breathe in through his nostrils, as if he were scenting the air. 'Are you the Lady Sif?'

'Yes. But who are-,' Sif stopped abruptly and took a step backward.

The man's ears, poking through his hair, were pointed.

'Oh my _gods,'_ Sif half-whispered. 'You're an-,'

The man got up and turned to face her, and Sif felt as if an icy sword had stabbed her in the heart. Raw horror flooded into her mind and she stumbled backward.

The man watched her silently. He was tall and slender, lean but well-muscled, his chest scarred. There was a tattoo on one shoulder, and he had long, thin fingers. His face was pale and thin, and angular, but handsome in a cold kind of way, dominated by a pair of glittering black eyes, and though his hair was silver his eyebrows and the short, pointed beard perched on his chin were black.

Sif's hand went to her waist, but she had left her dagger in her room. She pointed at him. '_You!_ What are you doing here?' She could hear her own voice in her ears, and it sounded high and strained.

The man took a few steps toward her. 'Please, calm down! I'm a friend!' The voice was deep and dark, with a sharp, slightly nasal accent that she did not recognise.

Sif banged into a table and grabbed hold of his for support. 'How did you get back here?'

The man raised his hands. 'My Lady, I'm not going to attack you. I just…' he paused, and winced, clutching at his side. 'I'm sorry if I scared you. I just needed to get somewhere warm.'

Sif hesitated. There was something not quite right here. The man looked like someone she had known, but…

No. She felt herself relax slightly. It wasn't him. He was much too young; only about her age, she thought.

'Who are you?' she said again.

'My name is Skandar,' said the man, bowing his head to her.

'I'm sorry,' said Sif. 'I… I thought you were someone else.'

His expression flickered briefly. 'Well, I'm honoured to meet you again, Lady Sif.'

Sif stared at him. 'Who _are_ you? How did you get in here? And what do you want with me?'

'I…' he started to speak and then stopped and began to cough; harsh, painful-sounding coughs. 'I need to sit…' he half-turned away from her, making a grab for the chair that had his tunic slung over it. But his fingers slipped and he staggered sideways and crumpled to the floor, landing hard on his back. He made a couple of attempts to get up but then slumped, groaning softly.

Sif forgot her fear and hurried toward him. 'Are you all right?'

Skandar rolled onto his side. 'My back… hurts… please, I need help, my Lady…'

Sif shouted for the servant.

She came at once. 'Yes, my Lady?'

'Go and get some people to help you,' Sif snapped. 'We have to take this man to the infirmary immediately.'

'At once, my Lady.'

The servant dashed off, and Sif crouched by Skandar's side and gently turned him onto his back. His breathing was rapid and painful-sounding, his chest rising and falling with a quick, weak motion to match it, but he clasped her hand and looked up at her. 'I don't want… to bother you,' he said. 'I just…' he coughed again.

Sif touched his forehead; it was hot and damp. 'Don't worry, I've sent for help. Where does it hurt?'

'My back,' he gasped. 'You didn't… quite heal it all… the way, I think.'

'What do you mean?' said Sif. _'I_ didn't…'

He smiled a little at her. 'I'm sorry if I was… rude. I was in pain, frightened. It's different when… oh…' His eyes closed and he gave a little sigh and went limp.

A group of servants arrived with a stretcher, and Sif stood back while they rolled Skandar onto it and carried him away. She followed them out of the library and toward the infirmary, heart pounding.

'_Sif? What's going on?'_

Sif jerked slightly. _'Oh! Saphira.'_

'_I just woke up. What's going on? What are you so excited about?'_

The servants had reached the door to the infirmary, and Sif hurried after them while they carried Skandar in. The room beyond was full of beds, and they laid his unconscious form down on it, covering him with a blanket while someone ran to fetch the healers.

Sif stood by the bed, looking down at him. He lay quite still, his upturned face pale, mouth opening slightly to breathe.

'_Sif? What is it?'_

Sif took a deep breath. _'Saphira, it's… there's a man. He got into the Library somehow, he says his name is Skandar and he's hurt… Saphira, he looks like Galbatorix.'_

Saphira shared a feeling of bewilderment. _'What?'_

'_He looks exactly like him!'_ said Sif. _'The beard, the face, the eyes… but he's too young and his ears are pointed. I don't understand.'_

'_Pointed ears? He's an elf?'_

'_I don't know. He's unconscious, I can't ask him. I'm in the infirmary with him.'_

'My Lady?'

Sif looked up. The healers had arrived. One was already examining Skandar, and the other was looking at her.

'My Lady, who is this?' he asked.

'I don't know, he just fainted in front of me,' said Sif. 'He said his back hurt and he kept coughing.'

The other healer had noticed his ears. 'Oh dear gods… he's an elf!'

'Yes, and I don't want him to die,' said Sif, pulling herself together. 'Find out what's wrong with him. If I can heal him, then tell me so. As for you-,' this was to the servants who had lingered in the room, '-You can go now. Go on, stop staring at him and get out!'

They took the hint, and Sif turned to the healers. 'I'm going to go and let you get on with it. Send someone to get me as soon as you can.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

As Sif turned to leave, Skandar stirred. 'Thankyou, my Lady,' he whispered.

Sif left the infirmary, her mind in a whirl. _'I don't understand. Saphira, how is this possible?'_

'_I don't know… How is he?'_

'_I think he'll be all right,'_ said Sif. _'The healers can look after him… I'll talk to him once he's better, ask some questions.'_

'_Show him to me,'_ said Saphira.

Sif sent her a mental image of Skandar's face, and instantly felt the blue dragon's shock.

'_Oh my gods… you're right. Sif… did Galbatorix have any family apart from the Queen?'_

'_I don't think so…'_

'_You must ask him,'_ said Saphira. _'As soon as he wakes up.'_

Sif hung around in the corridor outside the infirmary for a while, not wanting to leave until she had learned more about Skandar, but when no-one came out to fetch her she reluctantly decided that she should go and talk to Lord Theremin as they'd agreed the night before. It would be rude to keep him waiting.

She eventually located him in the solar, waiting for her with a slightly nervous air.

'There you are,' he said, relaxing and coming toward her. 'I was beginning to worry…'

'Apologies, my Lord,' said Sif. 'I hope you weren't kept waiting too long?'

'It was not a problem, my Lady,' he said, bowing. 'Only there was word of some kind of disturbance in the Library…?'

'Oh-,' Sif hesitated, and then decided it would be better not to tell him, at least until she had a better idea of the situation. 'It was nothing. Shall we get to work?'

'Of course, my Lady. Now I have brought these documents…'

Sif hid a gloomy sigh and sat down with him at a table, and he started to brief her on her new role and duties and on the workings of the city. She listened politely, doing her best to take it all in and asking questions, but all the while thoughts of Skandar lingered in the back of her mind. Was he all right? Who was he, and where had he come from? The memory of those black eyes flitted across her mind, and she shook herself and listened while Theremin described the workings of trader licensing, which took several minutes.

'…it's really not quite as complex as it sounds,' he finished. 'And in any case, my Lady, it's all written down here-,' indicating the papers on the table in front of him. '-and I'll be on hand if you need any help. Now, on to more pleasant things… I think I would be correct in thinking that we should hold some kind of celebration to mark your arrival? I would of course have begun organising something myself, but I was uncertain…'

Sif perked up. 'I want to hold a dance.'

'A dance, my Lady?'

Sif nodded. 'I want to hold it outdoors, near the lake, on a nice clear night. All the nobles would be invited, and maybe a few other people as well.'

Theremin appeared to be thinking it over. 'It would be difficult to organise…'

'Would there be anything wrong with it, though?' said Sif, a little anxiously.

After another pause, one which made her insides churn very slightly, Theremin finally shook his head. 'No, I don't think so, my Lady. It can be done. And since you want it, it shall be done.'

'Good!' said Sif, a little too loudly. 'I mean… see to it. I have a list of suggestions.'

Now it was Theremin's turn to listen, which he did, very politely, while Sif outlined the plans that Saphira and herself had made during the journey. She described the table settings, the music, the dances, and food and a dozen other details, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice, and Theremin had obviously noticed it because he smiled.

'Yes, that all sounds feasible,' he said during a rare break. 'And might I suggest-,'

They talked it over for a while, and Theremin wrote down the list of things they decided on. When he was done he said; 'I shall show this to the castle steward and see what can be arranged. Leave it to me, my Lady.'

'How long will it take?' said Sif.

Theremin scratched his ear. 'I'm not entirely certain at this stage, my Lady, but at a rough estimate I would say… a few days; three or maybe four. It all depends on the weather being suitable… it may be a good idea to wait for a full moon, and…'

'Four _days!_' Sif burst out, unable to stop herself.

'I'm sorry, my Lady,' said Theremin. 'But this will be a very important social event as well, and the guests will all want some time to have new outfits prepared and perhaps to invite friends from neighbouring cities and so on. A few days of waiting will give us all more time, and help to build… anticipation.'

Sif sighed. 'All right. I understand. See to it.'

'I shall, my Lady. In the meantime, perhaps we should arrange for someone to give you a tour of the castle, so that you may acquaint yourself with your new home.'

'I would like that,' said Sif. But knowing the talk was over sent a little jolt of urgency through her spine, and she got up, saying; 'There is something I must see to first. Send someone to the dining hall at midday; I should be there by then.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

Sif left the solar without another word, and hurried back toward the infirmary. At first she was fairly certain she knew which way to go, but she took a wrong turn and ended up lost somewhere in the living quarters, swearing under her breath. A handy chambermaid pointed her in the direction of the infirmary, and she took it, almost running in her eagerness to get there.

One of the healers came out to meet her shortly after she arrived, and she had to stop herself from grabbing him by the arm. 'Well? Well? How is he?'

The healer drew back slightly. 'He is fine, my Lady.'

Sif sighed loudly, half from impatience and half from relief. 'What was wrong with him?'

'He's undernourished and suffering from exhaustion, and there is a slight infection in his lungs,' said the healer. 'But he should be fine with a few days of rest.'

'What about those injuries on his back?' said Sif.

'They are not serious, my Lady. Most of them are almost completely healed already.'

Sif breathed deeply. 'Can I go in and see him?'

'Yes, my Lady. He is awake and quite clear-headed. He has been asking for you.'

Sif nodded and went into the infirmary at once. Skandar was there, sitting up in bed and awkwardly clutching a bowl of soup. There was a spoon lying next to him, but he didn't seem to be aware of it and was drinking the soup directly out of the bowl. But he lowered it quickly when he saw her. 'My Lady!'

Sif stood back a little, watching him. 'I… uh… how are you?'

'I feel much better now,' said Skandar, almost eagerly. His eyes were wide and earnest, like those of a child. 'Thankyou so much, Lady Sif.'

She shook her head. 'It wasn't a problem. So you feel stronger now?'

'Oh yes. Your… friends gave me this-,' indicating the bowl. 'I don't know what it is, but it tastes good.'

Sif stared at him. 'It's soup. Don't you know that?'

He peered at it and took another sip, smacking his lips. 'It tastes like… I don't know, I've never tasted anything like this. It's good. Does "soup" mean "good"?'

In spite of herself, Sif giggled. 'You've never had soup before?'

'No. Do all humans drink it?'

'Sometimes.' Sif paused. 'Skandar, are you an elf?'

Skandar shook his head. 'No. I've never seen an elf before.'

'Well then if you're not an elf, what are you?'

He gave her a slightly anxious look. 'I'm sorry, I don't want to scare you or anything… don't you recognise me?'

Sif felt a tightening in her chest. 'Should I?'

'We met before,' said Skandar. 'By the lake. You and your dragon were very helpful to me.'

She froze. 'What?'

'Look at my eyes,' Skandar said gently.

She did, and her bewilderment increased. 'But… but that's not…'

'It's all right,' said Skandar. 'I'm a weredragon, my Lady.'

Sif gaped at him. _'What?_ A what? A _weredragon?_'

He was watching her, still wide-eyed and anxious-looking. 'A weredragon. You know what that is, don't you, my Lady? I can change my shape. I can be a dragon or… this. Like a werecat.'

Sif managed to calm down a little. 'I know what a weredragon is. I mean… I've heard stories. But you're supposed to be all gone!'

'Not quite all gone,' said Skandar. 'As far as I know, I'm the only one left. I…'

'What?' said Sif.

Skandar shook his head. 'I'm sorry, it's just that… I can't believe I'm talking to a rider. A real rider! Just like my parents told me about!' his voice was a child's voice, high and excited.

Sif grinned despite herself. '_You're_ excited about meeting _me?_'

'Oh yes. I've always wanted to meet a rider,' said Skandar. 'Can I…' he broke off, blinking shyly.

Sif came closer. 'What is it?'

'Well… I don't want to… could I see your hand?'

Sif held it out for him to inspect. He put down the bowl of soup and looked at the palm, examining the silver oval. He made a move as if to touch it, but withdrew and sniffed at it, like a dog or a dragon. 'A gedwëy ignaesia…' he breathed.

'You can touch it if you want,' said Sif.

He did, brushing it with his fingertips, but although he did so lightly and carefully Sif winced.

Skandar hastily withdrew. 'I'm sorry. I have to blunt my claws…'

Sif stared at his hands. 'Can I see?'

'Of course, my Lady.'

She took hold of his right hand, turning it over in her own. The fingers were long and delicate and perfectly human-looking… but he had claws. They were black, curved and quite sharp, hollow on the underside but very strong. Sif touched them. 'My gods…'

He grinned shyly, revealing sharp white teeth with elongated canines. 'It's very annoying, actually. I have to file them down all the time so I don't hurt people.'

Sif let go of his hand, suddenly embarrassed. 'Where did you come from?'

Skandar coughed. 'I grew up in Du Weldenvarden… a long way from where the elves used to live. My parents died when I was ten, and mostly I raised myself. I knew there were humans living to the South, and I wanted to come and see them, but I got attacked by a dragon and my wing was damaged, so I lost control and fell into the lake.'

'You mean you've never been in a city before?' said Sif, amazed.

'Never.' He was giving her a look that mingled diffidence with intense curiosity. 'I can't believe it, how you all live here in the same territory, so close together. And so many of you! Don't you fight each other?'

Sif nodded. 'All the time. How did you get into the castle, though?'

'I flew, landed on the…' he waved his hands, frowning, 'The… thing… like a cliff. Your dragon was there, sleeping. I changed back into this shape and came down through the wooden thing-,'

'-Trapdoor,' said Sif.

'Yes, the trap… thing. I followed your scent for a while but I lost it again so I wandered into that other place, with the fire in it and those sort of gaps in the walls, you know, with the… sort of things like flat pieces of wood-,'

'-Books.'

'-So I sat down there by the fire to rest and dry my clothes and someone found me so I asked them to go and find you.'

'Why didn't you change back before?' said Sif. 'When we were by the lake?'

He shook his head. 'I was exhausted, and I wasn't certain if you were a friend. I thought you might panic and attack me. I'm sorry if it was rude of me to come into your territory without permission… I wanted to find you to ask, but I was so tired…'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'Please, get some rest. Finish your soup before it gets cold. You're my guest; I'll make sure you're looked after.'

Skandar smiled that shy smile again, not quite meeting her eyes as he obediently picked up the bowl again.

Sif watched him as he finished it off. 'So,' she said when he was done. 'You said you wanted to meet the King.'

Skandar nodded and dabbed his mouth clean. 'I know about him from talking to the dragons. They say he's a dragon. The oldest dragon in the world, with scales as black as night. Ravana, the Night Dragon… with black fire and magic more powerful than any other in the world.' He said this in a tone of deep reverence. 'The leaders of every race had to go to him and take an oath of allegiance. And I thought that… well I'm the only weredragon left, so I suppose that makes me the leader.'

Sif, watching him, felt a deep sadness in her chest. 'So you decided you would go to him and take the oath.'

'Yes, my Lady,' said Skandar. 'But… I don't know the way, or how far it is. I need someone to help me.'

'I can help you,' said Sif. 'If you need a map I can give you one, and anything else you need… but you should rest first.'

Skandar lay back, smiling. 'Thankyou, my Lady.'

Sif smiled back. 'You can call me Sif.' She glanced toward the door. 'I have to go now; I have things to do. If you're strong enough to be up later on, we can have lunch together.'

'I could get up now,' Skandar offered.

'No, you get some sleep,' said Sif. 'I'll see you later. All right?'

She left the infirmary, filled with excitement. _'Saphira, he's a weredragon! Not an elf, a weredragon!'_

'_But why does he look like Galbatorix?'_ said Saphira.

'_I don't know, it's probably just a coincidence. Everyone knows he didn't have any family. Anyway, he wasn't a weredragon; he was a dark elvish half-breed.'_

'_You're sure?'_

'_Skandar told me his parents were weredragons, and I believe him,'_ said Sif, surprised by her own fierce tone. She kept thinking of Skandar's bright eyes, and the idea that he could be any relation to the man she hated most in the world made her feel almost angry.

'_All right, calm down, there's no need to be like that about it. It's just… strange.'_

'_Well, _he_ was part elvish,'_ said Sif._ 'Everyone said that's why he looked like that. Maybe… maybe all elves look like that. How should I know? I've never seen one. Anyway, I'm going to have lunch with him and he can tell me more about himself. He wants me to help him get to Ilirea so he can talk to the King… swear allegiance to him on behalf of his race.'_

'_So you'll give him a map?'_

'_Yes… well, I don't know if he'll know how to use it. He's never even seen a city before. He probably can't even read.'_

'_I want to meet him,'_ said Saphira. _'See if I can get the measure of him.'_

'_You already did meet him,'_ said Sif. _'He was the dragon we met by the lake.'_

'_Him!'_ Saphira exclaimed. _'Are you sure?'_

'_He said he was. He's got scars all over his back. You can tell it's him from the eyes.'_

'_My gods, I thought there was something odd about that dragon.'_

Suddenly, inexplicably, Sif felt happy. _'I like him.'_

Saphira grinned mentally. _'So much for Gil'ead being boring, eh?'_


	5. Hidden Dragon

**Chapter Five**

**Hidden Dragon**

Sif could barely concentrate on what she was doing for the rest of that morning. All she could think about was Skandar. She wanted to talk to him some more, ask him questions, find out about his parents, his upbringing, his home. And she wanted to know about his powers and how they worked, what it felt like to change shape like that. She wanted to know everything about him. His face kept flitting across her mind. She kept remembering the shy way he had smiled at her, and it made her stomach inexplicably start churning.

But she did manage to accomplish a few things before lunchtime all the same. She explored her new office, which Theremin had kept scrupulously neat during his tenure in it, and signed a few of the documents that had been left ready for her, and wrote a letter to her mother telling her that she had arrived safely. She was tempted to mention Skandar as well, but something held her back. Not yet. She'd tell her later. In the meantime she'd sworn the servants and the healers to secrecy, not wanting the rest of the castle or the city outside to know that there was a weredragon in the infirmary. There was no telling how they would react. She had also left orders with the infirmary staff before leaving that morning, to the effect that, if he felt well enough, her guest was to be given clean clothes and an opportunity to clean himself up and be escorted up to the dining hall to have lunch with her. But before then she had to fend off Lord Theremin and Lord Walden, both of whom wanted to dine with her as well, and a string of officials who wanted the opportunity to meet her and brief her on their own roles. She got rid of Theremin and Walden by pleading tiredness and promising to share the evening meal with them instead, and told the officials she would talk to them that afternoon. That done, she gave orders to the kitchen to prepare enough food for two – and plenty of it – and then sought out and talked to the head steward. He had indeed received his orders from Lord Theremin and assured her that preparations for the dance were already underway. At the moment, it could be held at the end of the week, when the moon would be just about full – assuming it didn't rain again, of course.

Finally, Sif retired to the dining hall – which she was now able to find with relative ease, hungry and a little wrung out after so much hard work and excitement. Food was already being laid out on the table, and there were two place settings ready, but Skandar wasn't there yet. Sif sat down at the head of the table and drank some of the city's rather fine wine to try and calm her nerves. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so tense.

Time passed, and her stomach began to growl. She was ravenous, but she didn't want to begin eating until Skandar arrived and there was no sign of him.

She finished her wine and was staring at the second cup she'd poured and wondering whether she ought to risk drinking it on an empty stomach when Skandar finally came. He did so diffidently, shuffling in through the door as if he didn't want to be noticed, and when she did notice him it took her a few moments to recognise him. He was wearing grey leggings and a fine white tunic that was a little too large for him, along with the pair of boots he'd had with him on his arrival. They were large and rough, made from some kind of hide that was covered in shaggy fur, and reached halfway up his lower legs, held in place by thin strips of leather. He'd also obviously had a bath. But the reason why Sif didn't recognise him immediately was higher up than that. The long mane of hair had been cut short, and the beard was entirely gone. Without them he looked smaller, and a lot younger.

Sif stood up. 'Skandar! There you are!'

He came toward the table, ducking his head slightly. 'Er, I, uh… hello, my Lady.'

'Please, sit down,' said Sif, indicating the other chair.

He obeyed, perching on it with his long legs drawn up slightly, as if he weren't used to furniture. 'I hope you don't mind… I mean I meant to come earlier, but…'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'What happened to your beard?'

'Oh. Well I shaved it off,' said Skandar, blinking. 'I noticed you looking at it. I thought you didn't like it so I got rid of it.' He rubbed his bald chin. 'It took ages to grow, you know…'

'You didn't have to do that,' said Sif.

'I don't mind.' Skandar was eyeing the food. 'Can I have some of that?'

'Of course,' said Sif. 'Help yourself. Take whatever you want.'

He did, taking a large chunk of cold beef off a platter and sniffing at it. Apparently satisfied that it was edible, he started to tear at it with his teeth, ripping strips off it and eating them. He was surprisingly fastidious about it; taking small bites and dabbing his mouth clean when he was done, while Sif looked on, caught between mortification and laughter.

'It's good,' said Skandar, swallowing the last of it. He looked around at the rest of the dishes. 'Er… is there some water I can wash my hands in?'

Sif covered her eyes with her hand. 'Use the tablecloth, I'm sure no-one will complain.'

He did, casting anxious looks at her. 'Did I do something wrong?'

Sif pulled herself together. 'Well,' she said, trying not to laugh, 'Humans generally use cutlery to eat with.'

'Cut-ler-ee?'

'There, next to your plate. That's the round metal thing on the table in front of you. Yes, that's it. Those metal sticks, they're called a knife and a spoon.'

Skandar picked up the spoon and bit it experimentally. 'What do I do with it?'

Sif explained. He looked mystified, but copied her actions when she demonstrated with her own cutlery, and after some practise and a few false starts he was using the knife to cut up his food before eating it.

'Well,' he said eventually. 'I know what a knife is and how you use it, but I'm not sure I understand why you have to use one like this if you've got perfectly good teeth to do the job.'

Sif shrugged. 'I don't really understand it either, actually. But it's polite. People like you better,' she translated, seeing his blank expression.

He was silent for a few moments, apparently wrestling with the idea, but then his look became determined. 'Well,' he said. 'If I have to do this sort of thing to fit in, then I'll do my best.'

'That reminds me,' said Sif. 'Have you told anyone else you're a weredragon?'

Skandar shook his head. 'I haven't spoken to anyone much except you. Just the healers, but all I told them were things like how I was feeling and so on.'

'That's good. Look, Skandar… I think it would be a good idea not to tell people. Do you think you could pretend to be human?'

She had half expected him to be offended, but his response was a firm nod. 'I think that would be a good idea. I don't want people asking questions. I only told you about what I was because you helped me before. And because you're a rider.'

Despite herself, Sif was flattered. 'So you know all about riders?'

'Oh yes. Everyone knows about riders,' said Skandar, childishly eager again. 'They're – I mean, _you're_ – brave and powerful and you fight for peace and justice and protect every race in Alagaësia. Even races like the urgals, before the Shades destroyed them.'

'Well, we do our best,' said Sif, smiling. 'And weredragons, too, I'm sure.'

Skandar sighed. 'I hope so.'

'Well look,' said Sif. 'I've been thinking about what to do, and I have an idea.'

He looked up hopefully. 'Yes, my Lady?'

'Please, call me Sif,' said Sif.

'Yes… Sif?'

'I think you could pass for human without much trouble provided something's done about your ears and hair,' said Sif. 'Magic would be the easiest way to change that.'

'I don't have any magic,' said Skandar. 'Weredragons don't. I mean, I can change my shape, but it's my only power. I can't cast spells.'

'Oh.' Sif was surprised. 'Well, that's all right; I can do it. A simple spell should do it.'

'How would it work?'

'I haven't-,' Sif stopped. Telling him she'd never done something like it before would be a bad idea. 'Well there are two ways to change your ears,' she resumed, trying her best to sound authoritative. 'I can cast an illusion over them so that people look at them but don't see that they're pointed, or I can make them grow into a different shape – make them round like a human's.'

'Which one would be easier?' said Skandar.

'The first one,' said Sif. 'Only, it wouldn't last. It would wear off after a while… a few hours or a day or so.'

'Well that's no good,' said Skandar. 'What if it wore off when someone was looking?'

'No, you're right,' said Sif. 'But I'm not so sure about the second method.'

'Why?'

'Well… it would be deforming,' said Sif. 'It would have to be reversed by another spell. And it would hurt.'

'I don't mind if it hurts,' said Skandar. 'Pain isn't… well it doesn't bother me.'

'I still don't like the idea of doing something like that to you,' said Sif.

He smiled at her, a little sadly. 'Sif… I'm used to it. It hurts every time I change. Hurts all over.'

'Then why do you do it?' said Sif.

'Because that's what I do,' said Skandar. 'It's part of me.' He looked at her ears. 'You have pieces of metal stuck through your ears. Why?'

Sif touched her earrings. 'Because it looks pretty.'

'Well then,' said Skandar, helping himself to some bread as if that settled it.

Sif gave up. 'Well all right. We'll do it then. Once we've finished eating. As for the hair, that should be easy. I've done that dozens of times.'

'You have? Why?'

'Watch,' said Sif. She lifted her right hand, holding it over her own head. '_Skipan minn skorr rơðull!_'

Pale blue light glowed around her hair, and a moment later it effortlessly changed its colour from dark brown to bright yellowy blonde, the colour of butter.

Skandar gasped. 'By the gods, that's… you…'

Sif inspected her new hair. 'I learned how to do that years ago,' she said, unable to keep the pride out of her voice. 'When I got bored with the colour of my hair, I could change it into whatever I wanted. Once I even tried white, but everyone laughed so much I had to change it back.'

'And you could do that to mine?' said Skandar.

'Yes. I can do it right now if you like.'

He looked doubtful. 'What colour would it be?'

'What colour would you like?' said Sif.

'Oh. Er. I don't know, what do you think?'

'Well there's no hurry,' said Sif. 'Have some more to eat, think it over.'

Skandar nodded and helped himself to an apple. He ate it, and then inspected the cup of wine in front of him. 'What's this?'

'It's wine,' said Sif, and winced when he took a large mouthful.

Skandar coughed frantically, nearly dropping the cup. 'What – the _hell?'_

Sif laughed. 'Don't panic, it's not poison.'

'Well what _is_ it, then?' said Skandar.

'It's wine,' Sif repeated. 'It's… well it's good to drink, but you have to drink it slowly, and you shouldn't drink more than one or two cupfuls.'

'Why, what happens then?'

'Well, you sort of…' Sif paused. Concepts of things like drunkenness were so simple and obvious to her, but explaining them to someone as completely innocent as Skandar was harder than she would have thought. '…it makes you go a bit silly,' she said eventually, and rather lamely.

'Silly how?' said Skandar. He looked fascinated.

'You say and do things you shouldn't,' said Sif. 'And it makes you clumsy, and sometimes you get sick.'

Skandar peered at the cup. 'Oh. All right then.' He put it aside and took another apple.

Sif went back to her food, but watched him surreptitiously at the same time. He really was very good-looking, she thought. Without the beard his face looked softer; younger and more friendly. And though his hair was an odd colour, and his teeth were sharp and dragonish, she couldn't help but notice the assured grace in the way he moved, the elegance shape of his hands and the fineness of his features. He looked a little strange, she conceded to herself, but striking as well.

Skandar glanced up and saw her, and she blushed and looked away. But she couldn't resist sneaking another look at him later to see if he was still watching her. When she found he wasn't, she was almost disappointed.

Finally, they finished eating and Skandar said; 'I think I'd like my hair to be brown.'

'Just ordinary brown?' said Sif.

He nodded. 'Most humans have brown hair. It would make me fit in better.'

'Yes, you're right,' said Sif. She stood up. 'Should I do it now?'

Skandar got out of his own chair. 'All right.'

Sif came close to him, holding her hand out. 'Just… hold still.'

He bowed his head, looking up at her. 'Will it hurt?'

'No, not at all. Just don't move until I say.'

Sif paused a moment, thinking, and then cast the spell. It worked quickly, as always, and she watched Skandar's curls silently darken from grey to light brown. Once she was done she inspected her handiwork. It looked good. Convincing. She was about to tell Skandar he could move, but then she noticed his eyebrows. They were still black. She tutted to herself and recast the spell over them until they matched his hair. That was better.

'All right,' she said. 'I'm done.'

Skandar patted his head. 'Did it work?'

'Yes. I'll get you a mirror later. But first-,'

There was a knock at the door.

Sif looked around, a little irritably. 'Who is that?'

'Er, Lord Theremin sent me,' a voice replied. 'I'm to give you a tour of the castle?'

'Oh. Wait out there,' Sif called. 'I'll be out shortly.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

Sif looked at Skandar's ears. 'I'd better change them now, before someone barges in. Are you really sure about this?'

Skandar nodded. When she didn't move straight away he nudged her gently. 'Go on, get it over with.'

'All right,' said Sif. 'All right…' she closed her eyes. Her lips moved silently for a few moments, and then she opened her eyes, took in a deep breath, and cast the spell.

Blue magic glowed around Skandar's ears. He made no sound, but Sif saw his expression tighten a little. She forced herself to keep the mental channel open so her magic would continue to come forth, and waited anxiously to see what would happen.

Nothing did for several seconds, but then she saw the outline of his ears start to warp and her heartbeat quickened. Skandar winced, his jaw moving slightly as he clenched his teeth. Sif kept her eyes on the pointed tips of his ears, and her breath caught in her throat when she saw them begin to shrink. Slowly at first, then faster. They became weird and shapeless, as if they had melted, but just as Sif had begun to panic they settled on a new shape and stayed there.

Very carefully, Sif shut off the stream of magic. 'I think… it's done.'

Skandar relaxed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He was breathing heavily. 'Is it over?'

'Yes. How do they feel?'

He carefully felt the tops of his ears, and froze. 'They're round!'

Sif smiled in relief. 'Yes. It worked. You look human now.'

'Oh, thank gods,' said Skandar. He smiled back at her. 'Thankyou, Sif.'

Without thinking, Sif touched him on the shoulder. The instant she made contact she felt him jerk back slightly, as if it had hurt him. 'I'm sorry-,' she began.

Skandar brushed the spot with his hand. 'No!' he blurted. 'I mean, I didn't mean to do that… you startled me, that's all.'

'I'm sorry,' said Sif. 'I didn't realise…'

'It's all right,' said Skandar. 'I'm just… no-one's touched me in a long time. I'm not used to it. I didn't mean to scare you.'

Sif watched him uncertainly for a few moments, and then held out her hand. 'Here.'

He took hold of it, a little hesitantly. 'Now what do I do?'

'Come with me,' said Sif. 'We're going to see the castle.'

'Oh, all right…'

He followed her meekly toward the door which, when opened, revealed a young, well-dressed man waiting on the other side.

'My Lady,' he said, bowing to Sif. 'And…' he looked at Skandar. 'I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced.'

'This is Skandar,' Sif said loudly. 'He's a friend of mine and he'll be staying here for a while.'

The man looked at Skandar with a hint of uncertainty, but then bowed. 'It's an honour to meet you, sir.' To Sif he said, 'My name is Elgin, son and heir to Lord Walden. I have been appointed to show your Ladyship around the castle, and after that, if you so desire, the city.'

'I would be delighted,' Sif said gravely.

'Excellent,' said Elgin. He was casting uncertain glances at Skandar as he said this, which Skandar was trying not to return.

Sif tightened her grip on the weredragon's hand. 'Lord Skandar will be coming with us.'

'Oh.' The young noble looked unhappy for the fraction of a second, but recovered himself. 'Well,' he said smoothly. 'If you would care to follow me, I thought we would begin with the library.'

Sif followed her guide off down the corridor, still holding Skandar's hand. She could almost feel his awkwardness, but she didn't let go. She waited until she was fairly certain Elgin was out of hearing, and then leaned over to whisper to him. 'I hope you don't mind, but I thought you'd like to see the castle.'

Skandar nodded. 'What am I supposed to do?'

'Nothing, just stick with me and don't say more than you have to.'

Skandar gave her a worried look, but her assured glance back at him seemed to calm him down and he nodded. 'All right…'

The tour began. Elgin showed them the library, describing how it had been rebuilt after the fire that had destroyed it during Galbatorix's rebellion, when rebels from the city had broken into the castle and looted it, and pointing out several particularly fine or rare volumes that had been locked up inside special cases. Skandar had let go of Sif's hand but stayed close to her, as if she were guarding him in some way, and solemnly inspected everything Elgin showed them. He had a nervous, slightly hunched look about him, Sif noticed, as if he were expecting to be attacked. It made her think of a wild animal.

But he said nothing, letting Sif speak for him when Elgin asked questions about him. Sif settled for saying that "Lord" Skandar was visiting from an isolated area in the North that his family owned, and that he was her guest. Apparently satisfied, Elgin moved on from the library and next led them to various meeting-chambers, the quarters of his fellow nobles – all of whom were then formally introduced to her – all the while imparting all kinds of useful information about them.

Sif listened, careful not to interrupt or look bored. She had been brought up to be polite and to always look interested when a fellow noble was talking. Knowing how to carry yourself in these situations was invaluable. Skandar, to her relief, appeared to be taking his cues from her and didn't say or do anything innappropriate.

Finally, just as Sif was beginning to wonder how much longer this was going to take, Elgin took them out through an archway and into a large and impressive courtyard.

Sif blinked in the light. It was still daytime, of course, though she'd spent so much time indoors so far that seeing the sky again gave her a very slight jolt. It was a fine day; the sky overhead was bright blue, decorated with a few white clouds, and birds were chirping. The courtyard was square, and a small path wound its way through well-kept grass. Vines had covered the walls, giving them a pleasingly organic look, and there was even a pond in one corner. A stone dragon perched on its edge, water trickling steadily out of its jaws and into the pool.

'Now this,' said Elgin, indicating it, 'This fountain is one of the oldest parts of the castle. It was put here nearly a thousand years ago, carved by Rodahn himself – have you perhaps heard of him, my Lady? No? A shame. He was considered to be one of the finest sculpters of his time. My father has some of his works… but this particular statue was made for a dragon-rider who ruled here during the day, who was so pleased with it that she placed it here by the pool and wove magic around it so that it would always spew water from its mouth like this. To this day, as you can see, the spell still has not worn off.'

Sif examined the statue, genuinely impressed for the first time. 'So it's been sitting here ever since?'

Elgin nodded. 'Nearly as ancient as the King himself, and doubtless with just as many stories to tell.'

'It's beautiful,' said Sif. 'I wonder if it was carved to look like the rider's dragon?' She glanced over at Skandar, but he wasn't there.

She turned around, suddenly anxious, but quickly spotted him. He was in the middle of the courtyard, inspecting something that stood there. It was another statue, this one far larger. A man, bigger than life-sized, standing on a pedestal.

'Ah, now that one was not carved by Rodahn,' said Elgin, following her toward it. 'It was carved much more recently, by one of the first female sculptors ever to live here in Gil'ead – I believe her name was-,'

Sif wasn't listening. She went to Skandar's side. He was looking up at the statue's face, and had gone very still.

Sif touched his arm. 'Skandar? What's wrong?'

He glanced at her. 'Why isn't he moving?' he asked in a small voice. 'What's wrong with him?'

'Skandar, it's not real,' said Sif. 'It's a statue.' She noticed Elgin loitering nearby, and quickly grabbed the weredragon's hand. 'Here. Touch it.'

Skandar did. For a moment he stood still, trembling slightly, but then he relaxed. 'It's a piece of rock! My gods, I thought it was _real.'_

Elgin, listening to them, laughed. 'Yes, the realism of the work is highly impressive, isn't it? You're not the first to be disconcerted by it, my Lord, believe me. Why, I myself once came through this courtyard at night and nearly walked into it – I thought I'd bumped into a giant and nearly screamed!'

Sif didn't laugh. She had looked at the statue's face as she was talking to Skandar, and the same cold churning she had felt in the crypts had abruptly come back. The statue was of a man; tall and thin, clad in a long robe and a pair of heavy boots. One hand rested on the hilt of a long sword. Thick, curly hair reached down to his shoulders, and the face – narrow and angular but coldly handsome and regal of expression – was set into an impassive frown. It was clean-shaven but for a short, pointed beard.

Skandar too looked less than amused. 'Why would anyone make a piece of stone look like this?' he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

'My Lord, it is only proper,' said Elgin. 'This, of course, is our former ruler, King Galbatorix Taranisäii the First. I'm sorry to say it was not carved from life; by the time it was made the King had locked himself away in his castle at Urû'baen and had not been seen in Gil'ead for many a long year.'

Neither Sif nor Skandar replied.

'Well,' said Elgin, once the silence had become embarrassing, 'I shall leave you to appreciate it. When you are ready to resume, I will be waiting over by the archway.'

Skandar had not taken his eyes off the statue. 'Why would they make something like this?' he asked once the young noble was out of earshot.

Once again Sif found herself at a loss to explain. 'Because it's art. You make something look like someone.'

He looked at her, and she could see fear in his face. 'This man was real?'

'Yes,' said Sif. 'Once he ruled this country. He was the half-breed King.'

'Galbatorix,' Skandar half-whispered. 'Yes… I know about him.'

'What do you know about him?' said Sif, unable to stop herself.

'That he was a murderer,' said Skandar. 'He became King by slaughtering hundreds of people. Riders and dragons, all dead. And then he betrayed the friends who had helped him do it, until they were gone and he was the only rider left in the world.' He paused, and looked at the ground. 'He was evil,' he mumbled.

Later on, Sif still could not quite understand her own reaction to this. Hot relief went rushing through her, but at the same time she felt a lump in her throat, as if she were going to cry. She tried to speak, but could not.

Skandar looked at her. 'You thought I was him,' he said matter-of-factly.

Sif shook her head.

'Yes you did.' Skandar looked at the statue again. 'I understand. He had the same beard I have… used to have. And curly hair. I can understand why you got confused.'

'He murdered my father,' Sif blurted.

Skandar sighed. 'He murdered lots of people. More than I could count. My father told me about the war he started, the people he killed, the evil he created. He said there are some crimes no-one could ever be forgiven for.'

'I'm sorry, Skandar,' said Sif, reaching for his hand. 'I shouldn't… for a while I thought maybe you were related to him.'

'Sif, he had no family,' said Skandar. 'Everyone knows that. Why would a man like that have wanted one?' he sighed and rubbed his chin. 'I was unhappy about losing my beard… not any more. If I had known before… gods.' He looked away from the statue, closing his eyes. 'I didn't know what he looked like until today. I didn't know I looked like him. I hate it. I wish I didn't.'

Sif's heart went out to him. 'You don't. You look nothing like him, Skandar.'

'How can you be sure?' he demanded, sounding suddenly fierce.

Sif clasped his hand. 'I met him once. I saw him. It was six years ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. A beard is a beard, and it's not your fault your hair is curly. Lots of people have curly hair.'

'My mother gave me my hair,' said Skandar, still not looking at the statue. 'I take after her, not my father.'

'There you go, then,' said Sif, forcing a smile. 'We all become who we are because of our parents. I look like my mother, but I think I take more after my father.'

'Who was he?' said Skandar.

'Eragon,' said Sif. 'His name was Eragon Shadeslayer, son of Brom. Have you heard of him?'

'Oh yes.' Skandar sighed. 'Eragon Shadeslayer. The first of the new riders, who overthrew Galbatorix but was the last person he murdered before he died.'

Sif thought of telling him that Galbatorix had not died but merely left the country, but for some reason did not. She gently pulled Skandar away from the statue. 'Come on.'

Elgin was waiting for them, a shade impatiently. 'Well, my Lord and Lady,' he said. 'I think I have shown you most of the significant parts of the castle… unless you would like to see the wine cellars?'

'Yes, please,' said Skandar, just as Sif was opening her mouth to say no.

Elgin glanced at her for confirmation, and she nodded silently – why not?

'Very well then,' he said. 'If you would follow me…'

Sif followed reluctantly. The charm had gone out of the exercise for her by now; she was tired and the statue had left her with a lingering feeling of unhappiness that stayed with her as they went back indoors and then descended to the lower levels of the castle.

Elgin paused when they reached the door to the wine cellars. 'I should warn you, my Lady, that it is a little… dirty down here.'

Sif nodded. 'I understand.'

'Also, I should go and fetch a torch-,'

'_Ljós!_'

Elgin gaped at the blue glow that had appeared in Sif's hand. 'Y-es, I think that will do nicely,' he said, with magnificent self-control.

Sif entered the cellars, with Skandar in tow. They proved to be smaller and less impressive than she had expected; low-roofed and dank, with dust and cobwebs decorating most of the large barrels that lined its walls.

Skandar strolled along the rows, inspecting casks and barrels and occasionally pausing to sniff at one. 'There's a lot of them,' he observed.

'Over eighteen gallons all told, or so I'm given to understand,' said Elgin. 'The finest red and white wines, along with mead, elderberry wine and the best cherry and strawberry liquor from the ancient Redwyn Winery. And beer, of course. My father told me that while he was governor of Gil'ead, Lord Morzan Drasborn of the Forsworn had these cellars considerably expanded, although a large part of them are no longer used.'

Sif surveyed the rows of barrels. 'They'll be useful,' she said.

'Oh, certainly,' said Elgin.

'I mean for my dance,' said Sif.

'Oh!' said Elgin. 'Yes, of course. I had heard about that. I look forward to it very much, my Lady,' he added.

Skandar had heard them. 'A dance?' he said.

Sif nodded. 'Everyone will be there.'

Skandar was silent for a while, apparently thinking. 'Can I come?'

On Sif's orders, Skandar was provided with a room in the castle. It was a guest room, not too far away from her own quarters, and like hers it had a balcony. She showed him into it herself, explaining how all the different fittings worked, and promising that she would have the castle's tailor make him some clothes.

'I have to go now,' she said once she had done. 'I have things to do. Do you think you'll be all right?'

Skandar nodded. 'I'm tired; I should sleep some more.'

'Good idea,' said Sif. 'I know you're much better now, but there's no need to take any risks. You'll want to be good and strong when the dance comes!'

Her eyes were shining at the mention of the dance, which she had already told him about in detail. Skandar nodded. 'Of course. You can't dance if you're tired.'

'Exactly!' said Sif. 'I'll come and see you later, but in the meantime, just ask the servants for whatever you want and they'll bring it right away. I'm going to tell everyone that you're my honoured guest; they'll all be very respectful to you.'

'What about dinner?' said Skandar. 'Can we… have it together?'

'Oh.' Sif bit her lip. 'I'm sorry, Skandar, but I promised I'd dine with Lord Theremin and his friends. I mean, you can come, but you might feel a bit…'

'No, no, it's all right,' said Skandar. 'I should stay away and let you get on with it. I'm sure I'll be fine.'

Sif nodded. 'Yes, of course. I'll see you later.' She smiled at him and left.

Once the door had closed behind her, Skandar sighed and stumped over to the bed. He sat down on it and pulled off his boots, tossing them aside. There was wood in the fireplace, but it wasn't lit. He wandered over and inspected it, crouching on the hearthrug. After a moment's pause to consider, he took in a deep breath and blew hard. A thin stream of black fire struck the wood, which lit almost instantly. Skandar kept blowing until he was satisfied the fire was well established, and then sat and warmed his hands.

The fire grew with surprising speed. Soon it was large enough to warm the whole room. Skandar could feel its heat glowing on his face, and he sighed and curled up on the rug. He was more tired than he had realised. In fact he had very much wanted to go back to sleep in the infirmary instead of accepting Sif's invitation to lunch, but he had made himself get up and go anyway. There had been more important things to deal with. Now the tiredness he'd been fending off for the last few hours rose up and began a determined assault on his mind and body. Even the short walk around the castle had worn him out.

He yawned and closed his eyes. The journey had taken more out of him than he had realised. He would need several days to fully recover.

As he drifted off, it occurred to him that he hadn't checked his new appearance in a mirror yet. But he was too far gone to care.

Skandar slept for most of the rest of that day, right through the afternoon and into the evening. He didn't wake up until nightfall, when there was a knock on the door. When he went to answer it he found a servant outside. She was carrying a tray piled high with rich food, and offered it to him. 'This was ordered to be sent up to you by Lady Sif.'

Skandar took it. 'Thankyou.'

Once she had gone, Skandar carried the tray over to the fire and ate what was on it, neatly and meticulously, taking small bites and wiping his mouth in between mouthfuls, and sipping delicately at the mug of warm mead provided. It was a good brew; sweet and not too strong. He made a mental note to try and find more of it later on.

Once he'd eaten – finishing everything that was on the tray down to the last crumb, he lay down in the firelight and rested, his face expressionless. Well, things were good now. He'd found a friend, and a good place to stay. He'd have plenty of food and a warm place to sleep, and Sif would help him get to Urû'baen and the King, and maybe would help him later on as well. She obviously liked him a lot; she'd given him all her attention, to the point of virtually ignoring that young noble who'd shown them around the castle, and had listened closely to everything he said. She was everything he had hoped for and more, and he silently thanked the gods for leading him to her.

He dozed, and woke again hours later. The fire had burnt down, and moonlight was shining in through the windows.

Skandar got up laboriously and went out onto the balcony. The city was spread out below him; a mass of faint yellow and orange lights like a field of black cloth scattered with jewels. The cool night air blowing up from it carried a thousand mingled scents; of wood smoke, horses, dung, damp earth, and humans. More than a hundred thousand of them.

Overhead, the moon hung in the sky. Skandar looked up at it. It was close to full. In a few days it would be a perfect circle. He watched it in silence for a while. Part of him wanted to say something, but he didn't know what it was or how to say it.

'Thankyou,' he said eventually.

It would do.

The moon was quite high. It must be late. Skandar looked to his left, where Sif's balcony was just visible. It was deserted, and there was no light coming from the windows. She must have gone to bed.

He retreated back into his own room, suddenly energised. There he locked the door, and pulled the heavy wooden bar onto place. Once he was satisfied that it was secure, he stripped off his tunic and laid it down on the bed and then removed his trousers and his undergarments as well. Naked, he stepped out onto the balcony. It was large, though not as large as he would have liked. It would have to do. He closed his eyes and began to concentrate.

A few seconds passed before anything happened, and as always he felt a slight twinge of fear. Then the power rose up inside him, burning hot and unstoppable, and took hold of his body like a massive fist. He fell onto his side, groaning softly as the change began.

He began to grow, his thin body stretching and expanding, limbs thickening. His skin ruptured in a million different places as the scales burst through. He gritted his teeth, trying not to cry out as he felt his tail sprout. The skin on his back tore open as the wings emerged, and after that the changes came thick and fast. His neck grew, his face bulged forward into a snout, horns sprouted from the back of his neck, his fingers and toes became massive black talons, his teeth lengthened into jagged dragon fangs, and when he finally did cry out the sound emerged as a deep roar.

When it was done, the great grey dragon slumped over the balcony, his head and tail draped awkwardly over the railings. Fortunately it had been built strong enough to support a smallish dragon, but he could feel it shifting ominously under his claws. Panic swept through him. If he broke it…

Without stopping to think, he rolled sideways. The metal guard-rails bent and then broke under him, and he fell off into space. But not very far. His wings peeled open almost immediately, catching him in time, and he glided low over the rooftops of the city, striving desperately to gain some height and avoid crashing into something. Fortunately he managed to catch a warm updraught, and rode it up to soaring height.

He circled there for a time, breathing deeply. Changing took a lot out of him; for quite a while he'd been unable to do it without blacking out afterward, and even after a great deal of practise he still felt weak and shaky for hours afterward and generally needed to sleep for a while.

_Not now,_ he told himself, and flew out toward the lake.

The waters of Isenstar passed beneath him in minutes, and then he was over the forest. He circled there for a time, searching for the spot. For a while he was afraid that he wouldn't find it, but the moonlight eventually showed him the big pine tree he had rested by the night before. He landed by it, in a large clearing, and quickly shoved his way through some brush to the base of the tree. There was a heap of disturbed earth there; he'd covered it with rocks but he found it easily enough by scent. Dragon talons scooped it out of the way without any trouble, and he dug down until he unearthed a large bundle, which he dragged out into the moonlight. It was about the size of a person, and tightly wrapped in leather that had been oiled to make it waterproof.

Skandar lifted it in his jaws, paused a moment to kick dirt over the spot where it had been, and then flew away.

He returned to the castle and made a clumsy landing on the balcony, thrusting his head through the door into his room and dropping the bundle well inside. Then, not liking the faint sound of groaning stone that the balcony was making, he changed back as fast as he could. It was harder this time. Changing twice in such a short space of time was a bad idea; he'd probably spend most of tomorrow asleep.

Still, he managed to finish it and dragged himself back inside before he collapsed, gasping for breath.

'Gods… damn… it… Skandar, you're going to… get yourself killed if you… keep this up.'

He dozed very briefly, but the night's work wasn't done yet and he knew he couldn't rest until it was. Muttering irritably to himself, he got up and pulled on his clothes, though he didn't bother to retrieve his boots from the corner. He picked up the bundle from the floor, stuffing it under his arm as if it weighed nothing, and then unlocked the door and slipped out into the castle.

It was dark and quiet there. Nearly everyone had gone to bed by now, but there were still a few people up. Servants, mostly, busy cleaning things and getting everything ready for the next day. Candles and lamps were still burning here and there.

But no-one saw Skandar. He slipped through the passages and corridors of the castle, barefoot and utterly silent, black eyes piercing the darkness. He moved as if he were stalking prey, sliding in and out of the shadows, occasionally making a quick dash through a patch of light. Once or twice someone caught a brief glimpse of something out of the corner of their eye, but by the time they had turned around Skandar was already gone.

It was all he could do not to snicker to himself. This was laughably easy. There weren't even any guards!

He found the door to the wine cellar by following his own scent, and Sif's. It was locked, but that wasn't much of a challenge. Skandar inserted a claw into the keyhole, pushed and turned. There was a click, and the door swung open. He grinned to himself and ducked inside.

Elgin had been correct. The wine cellars were huge. Skandar had noted that earlier, and had already marked out a disused sub-chamber connected to the one he and Sif had visited. He entered that now, and though it was too dark to see anything he sniffed around and quickly determined that it was empty and had been for some time. It would do. He hid the bundle in a corner, behind a stack of old cupboards that had been stored there, throwing some dust and spider-webs over it to make it less conspicuous.

He sighed. Well, it would be safe now and thank gods for that.

Feeling much more relaxed than he had done since coming to the castle, he went back into the main room and picked up a jug someone had left on a bench. He quickly located a barrel full of mead, and turned the little valve on its side. Clear, brown-gold liquid gushed out into the jug, filling it to the brim before he shut it off again.

Skandar paused to taste it, and sighed. Delicious.

He made the trip back to his room without paying much attention, and once he was there and locked in he sat down by the dying embers of the fire and coaxed it back into life by adding more wood and some dry paper for kindling. It was soon burning steadily again, and he sat down cross-legged and took a deep draught from the jug.

'Silly, indeed,' he said aloud.


	6. Dancing in the Dark

**Chapter Six**

**Dancing in the Dark**

Over the next few days, Sif slowly began to adapt to her new life. Her work as governor was fairly light; with Lord Theremin's help she quickly reorganised matters so that most of the important duties were now entrusted to people deemed intelligent and responsible enough to cope with them, and all Sif was required to do now was sign documents and make the occasional decision considered important enough to refer to her. Beyond that she took very little interest in the running of the city; she had never believed that she was cut out to be an administrator. She put a lot more effort into making her new home as comfortable as possible. Her quarters were refurnished to suit her tastes, and she had a large wardrobe tailored for herself. The castle's tailor was also given a very specific design for a new gown that she planned to wear to the dance, preparations for which were now in full swing. The locals were predicting fine weather on the night of the full moon, so Sif's new staff had pushed ahead with the plans they had made. Already platforms were being built down by the lake for the musicians who would play there, and thousands of special flat candles were being made. Sif was keeping them a secret from the guests; they had been Saphira's idea and she wanted it to be a surprise. Artificial flowers were also being made to decorate the tables – they would be mixed with real ones – and the head cook had promised to prepare his finest dishes and centrepieces.

Still, even though she had that to occupy her time, her existence in Gil'ead could well have been lonely. There were two reasons why it wasn't. One was Saphira, of course. Even though the blue dragon was unable to enter the castle and had to remain outside, she remained a constant presence in Sif's mind – listening in on most of her conversations and offering advice and feedback every step of the way. Sif did her best to spend time with her every day.

The other was Skandar. Sif kept a close eye on him, making sure he had plenty to eat and ordering the tailor to make some clothes for him, including a fine velvet tunic for him to wear to the dance. For the first day or so after their lunch together he stayed locked away in his room, not emerging even for food, which had to be sent up to him. Sif was disappointed to see so little of him, but accepted it. He needed time to recover properly. But he re-emerged at the end of that time, looking much stronger and dressed in a set of the new clothes that had been given to him, and after that he and Sif spent a lot of time together. He began following her around the castle, almost never speaking when other people were present, quiet and unassuming but always present. Sif was happy to let him stay, and even allowed him to sit with her during meetings and stay around while she talked to her officials. He seemed to like that, and would keep out of the way, just watching and listening. At mealtimes he would sit next to her and eat whatever was put in front of him – his manners had improved enormously already. When Sif wasn't busy she would go for walks around the city with him, taking in the sights. She liked his company.

'Tell me about your parents,' she said during one of these walks, on the day before the dance was scheduled to take place.

Skandar sighed. 'I don't like to talk about them. They're dead.'

'I know,' said Sif, taking his hand. 'But can't you tell me anything about them? What were their names?'

Skandar was more used to physical contact by now, and did not try and pull away. 'I haven't said their names in years. I'm not sure I'm ready.'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'You don't have to if you don't want to. How did they die? Can you tell me that?'

He looked at her. 'I will one day, Sif. I promise I'll tell you one day.'

For some reason that gave her a pang of sadness. 'All right.'

They walked in silence for a while.

'I can tell you about this, if you like,' said Skandar, letting go of her hand in order to pull up his sleeve.

Sif looked at the exposed skin on his shoulder. There was the tattoo she had briefly glimpsed on the day they had met and now could see in detail. It was a design of a brown bear's head, ears laid back, holding a white globe in its jaws.

'It's nice,' she said. 'What does it mean?'

Skandar pulled his sleeve back into place. 'The bear is my symbol. I adopted it.'

'Why? And what is it holding in its mouth?'

'The full moon,' said Skandar. 'That's an important sign to weredragons.'

'Oh!' said Sif. 'Like werewolves – I get it. Why a bear, though?'

'Well, when I was a boy I got attacked by a bear,' said Skandar. 'It left this scar on my chest here-,' he pulled the collar of his tunic down to reveal part of it. 'And this other one on my side.' This one was bigger than the first, and looked deep. 'You can see the marks of its claws,' said Skandar, touching it. 'See? There and there.'

Sif shivered. 'How old were you?'

'Young. Only ten. I was walking through some trees, trying to find my father, and ran into the bear. I'd never seen one before so I didn't know what it was. Then it attacked me. I was nearly killed. But luckily I… well it was the first time I ever really fought anything. That's why I chose the bear as my symbol, because it took one to teach me how to fight. My father came along after the bear had hurt me, but he didn't rescue me – I attacked it and it ran off.'

'You attacked a _bear?_' said Sif. 'How big was it?'

'Quite big,' said Skandar. 'About… this high when it was on all fours.' He held his hand up, level with his chest.

'My gods… weren't you scared?'

'Terrified,' said Skandar. 'But I'm a weredragon. We're born to fight.'

'I don't understand, though,' said Sif. 'Why didn't you just change into a dragon?'

'Because I couldn't,' said Skandar. 'Changing your shape isn't that simple. We don't hatch knowing how to do it-,'

'_Hatch?'_

'Yes. You know, out of an egg. I didn't hatch knowing how to change. I spent most of my childhood stuck in this shape – at first I knew how to do it, but then I just… forgot. As soon as I got to be more aware of myself, I couldn't do it any more. I was in the shape of a boy for a long time, believing I had no power and would never change again. My father kept telling me that I'd be able to do it again one day, when the time was right, but I didn't really believe him.'

'How did you do it, then?' said Sif. 'When?'

Skandar shook his head. 'It just happened one day, when I needed it to. But it took me years to learn how to control it. It was a nightmare for the first few years. I would suddenly change without wanting to; my body would start to reshape all on its own, and I couldn't always force it to stop. Even now I can't quite do it every time I want to. If I'm upset… weak in the mind or body, it won't work. Sometimes I get stuck in one shape for a while.'

'That sounds horrible,' said Sif. 'And you said it hurts, too…'

'So does being born,' said Skandar.

Sif paused to buy an apple from a nearby stall. 'Where do weredragons come from?' she asked.

Skandar gave her an amused glance. 'Well, when a male weredragon and a female weredragon…'

'Very funny. You know what I mean. Were they made by magic, or did they come here from somewhere else, or…?'

'No-one really knows,' said Skandar. 'But there is a legend about it, if you'd like to hear it.'

'Oh, yes please,' said Sif, taking a bite out of the apple.

Skandar walked in silence for a few moments, thinking. 'Well,' he said at length. 'Well, it goes like this. Long, long ago, when the world was young, before the riders came into being, there was a dragon that lived in the North. He had always lived alone, because when he was still in the egg his parents had abandoned him and left him to fend for himself. He had never known another living soul. But one day as he sat alone in his territory, he saw someone coming. It was an elvish maiden, who had come into his land. He did not know what she was, but he sat and watched her as she went to the bank of the river that flowed through his territory, to drink. She took off her clothes and bathed in the shallow water, and as he watched he began to marvel at her grace and her beauty. He did not come out, but stayed there, hidden, just watching her until she got out of the water and lay down in the sun to sleep. While she was sleeping he crept out of his hiding place and came down to the riverbank, and stood there, looking down on her. When she woke up he was there, his eyes on her. She was frightened and fled his valley, and he watched her go, not knowing what he had done or why she was afraid. But for days afterward he could not stop thinking of her. In the end he could not bear to live without seeing her again, so he followed her scent out of the valley and to the elvish kingdom where she lived. He found her there, living with her father, and when he saw her that second time he fell deeply in love with her.'

Sif loved stories like this. 'So what did he do?'

'He revealed himself, hoping she would come to him. But she hid herself from him and her father came to speak with him, demanding to know where he had come from and what he wanted. The dragon said; "my Lord elf, I am in love with your daughter. Please let me see her". The father said that he must leave, but he was so deeply in love that he would not. Finally, he said, "dragon, I would be happy to have to speak with my daughter again, but that would not be possible. Your huge claws and teeth, and your fire, would scare her". The dragon said, "please, I will do anything if you will just let me see her". So the elf said, "very well. If you will let me cut off your talons and pull out your teeth, and cripple your fire with my magic, then I will let you see her". The dragon refused and flew away, but for days and days he was in misery, wanting to see his elf-maiden again. In the end his misery was so great that he could no longer breathe fire. All his strength felt useless, his life pointless and empty, without his elf-maiden there. So he flew back to the elvish kingdom and found her father, and said, "if you will let me see her, then I will let you take my teeth and claws and my fire". So he lay down, still and quiet, as meek as if he were a tame beast, while the elf pulled his teeth from his jaws and cut off his talons with a sword, leaving him unable to claw or bite. Then he cast a spell over the dragon's throat, so that his fire was crippled and could never come forth again. Once he was done, the dragon said, "I have submitted, now let me see my love". But the elf picked up his sword again and shouted at him to leave and never come back, and the dragon could not fight him now. He fled, beaten and defenceless, humiliated. He went back to his valley and collapsed by the river where his elf-maiden had lain. He lay there for many days, unable to move, knowing that what he had done to himself could not be reversed. All his strength, all the gifts his ancestors had given to him, were gone. He was no longer a dragon but a pathetic husk; empty and broken and worthless.'

'That's horrible!' said Sif. 'What happened then?'

'Well, the dragon could not keep his territory now,' said Skandar. 'Other dragons came and drove him out, and he flew away, further and further North, until he was in the Icelands, where the ground is flat and icy cold and there is nothing to hunt. And even if there had been something to hunt there, he would have been unable to catch anything without his claws. He lived out there for years, forced to eat carrion, until he finally collapsed in a dark valley, too weak to fly any more, and prepared to die.'

'And did he?'

Skandar smiled. 'As he lay there, dying from starvation and despair, he saw a great light come out of the darkness that had taken him. He looked up and saw the glorious shape of his elf-maiden coming. She had come out into the Icelands all alone to look for him, and she had finally found him. She sat by him and comforted him, and he told her that he loved her and had given up all he had to be with her. She said, "I know that you love me, dragon. I knew it when I learned what my father did to you. He could not have fooled you if you were not blinded by love". The dragon cried out in his grief, saying that he was a fool and that he had thrown his life away for nothing. But the elf-maiden said, "no, my dragon, no. What you have done for me was a great sacrifice, and you should not have had to make it. I have come to save you, because I love you in return". The dragon felt a glimmer of joy then, but he said, "how can we be together?" The elf-maiden told him to be still. Then, as he lay there, she wove her magic around him and changed him into the shape of a man. And he had arms and legs, and hair, and soft skin without scales, and he embraced her as a man would and she embraced him in return, and their love made them both whole.'

'Did they live together forever?' said Sif.

'No. They were together for many years, but… their love was doomed. The dragon could not live as a man. Every night he dreamed of fire and flight and the free life of a hunter, and in the end he wasted away and died. The elf-maiden returned to her own people, heartbroken, and was forever disgraced for what she had done. But before she too died she gave birth to the dragon's child. It was born inside an egg, and hatched from it as a dragon. But a dragon that remembered what it was to walk and talk as an elf; a dragon that had another shape, another nature. The child grew up with the power of a dragon in her heart, but the elves called her half-breed and abomination and exiled her as soon as her mother died. She went to live in the valley where her father had once lived, hunting and sleeping in the open like a wild animal, neither elf nor dragon but both.'

'That's such a sad story,' said Sif. 'Why would elves act like that?'

'Elves have always acted like that,' said Skandar. 'Ever since they first came to this land. But the story has a happy ending. The first weredragon changed into her dragon form, and in that form she found a mate. Her eggs hatched into children who were like herself, and when they grew to adulthood and had young of their own they too were weredragons. That was the greatest power of their race. They could live in either world, or both. Some bred with elves, some with humans, others with dragons, and some with each other. But every child they bore had the same two-shaped nature as they did.'

'But all the weredragons are gone now,' Sif added.

'Of course,' said Skandar. 'The elves would never tolerate us. We were hunted down like vermin. Like the werewolves, and the shapeshifters.'

'I never heard about that,' Sif said uncertainly.

'Some things people don't want to hear about,' said Skandar.

They had turned back toward the castle by now, walking side by side. Evening was coming.

Sif, watching the silent Skandar, suddenly felt more ashamed than she had ever done in her life. 'I really am sorry, Skandar,' she said. 'For what those old riders did. I wish there was something I could do to take it back…'

He glanced at her. 'Don't be silly.'

It sounded like an accusation. 'I can't help it,' said Sif. 'Skandar, I'm _sorry,_ all right?'

'Sif-,' Skandar took her by the arm. 'I said don't be silly. Why in the gods' names is it your fault that people who lived hundreds of years ago abused their power? There must have been weredragons who committed murder and rape – should I take the blame for that?'

Sif looked at the ground. 'I suppose not…'

'Sif. Sif, look at me.'

She did.

'You can't blame yourself,' Skandar said gently. 'It's bad enough to feel guilty for something you've done without making yourself suffer for other people's crimes. Now cheer up and let's go inside. The dance is tonight, remember?'

Comforted, Sif made her way around the side of the castle to where there was a smaller door they could get in through.

'It must be lonely,' she said as she opened it.

'Hm?'

'Being a weredragon,' said Sif. 'You know… the last one of your kind, and you're not really a dragon or an elf or a human…'

He smiled. 'I think of it as a gift.'

They parted at the door to his bedchamber, and Skandar bowed to her before he went in.

'I'll neaten myself up and see you later, my Lady.'

Sif smiled at him. 'I'll meet you here in a little while and we can go down to the lake together.'

'I can't wait to see your new gown,' said Skandar, returning the smile before he vanished into his room.

Sif hurried through the door into her own, and locked the door behind her. The new gown was hidden in her wardrobe – it had arrived that morning, newly completed, but she hadn't shown it to anyone, not even Skandar. She wanted it to be a surprise.

Now she took it out and laid it flat on the bed, marvelling yet again at its beauty. It was blue, but not just one shade of blue. It was made from silk the colour of a summer sky, and the skirts were highlighted with dark blue velvet and silver lace. The bodice was covered in elaborate embroidered designs, picked out with sapphires and diamonds, and there were pearls sewn in among the lace around the collar, which had been subtly designed to look like dragon scales, and the fastenings on the back were silver. With the dress went a pair of soft leather dancing shoes, dyed blue.

Sif had a bath and washed her hair first, drying herself off with a spell. Then she sat at the dressing table for several minutes, combing her hair until it shone. She debated briefly over whether to colour it, and finally decided to leave it blonde before she braided it and decorated it with a pair of sapphire-encrusted gold hairclips. Then she put on the gown and shoes, and stood for a while, admiring herself in the mirror. She felt magnificent.

'_Ahem.'_

Sif blinked. _'What, Saphira?'_

'_I think your young man is waiting for you.'_

'_Wh- he's not my young man!'_

Saphira laughed. _'Oh come on. You fancy him.'_

Sif blushed. _'I don't know what you're talking about.'_

'_Well, what would I know?'_ said Saphira. _'I only share all your thoughts and feelings every hour of the day. Anyway, I think he's waiting for you. Also, people are starting to gather down by the lake.'_

'_Right.'_ Sif pulled herself together and left the room.

Sure enough, Skandar was lurking in the corridor outside. He was wearing a fine white velvet tunic decorated with silvery grey silk and glittering chips of obsidian that matched his eyes.

'Hello!' said Sif, a little too loudly. The sight of him had made something hot and heavy drop into her stomach. 'You look nice!' she added.

He grinned, showing his sharp teeth. 'And you look… ready to dance.'

Sif couldn't resist doing a little twirl to show off her gown. 'Isn't it beautiful? The tailor stayed up all night finishing it.'

'It suits you,' said Skandar. He offered her his arm. 'Shall we go, my Lady?'

Sif took it and they set out. Most of the castle's occupants had expected her to go down to the lakeside with an entourage of courtiers, but she had insisted on making a different entrance – namely, astride Saphira's back. The blue dragon was ready on the roost; she was wearing her saddle and her scales and talons were newly clean. Sif got onto her back without too much trouble, though the gown hampered her slightly, and carefully tucked her skirts in under her legs to stop them from snagging. Skandar got up behind her and settled down – he had been hesitant when Sif had offered to let him come with her, but had accepted without much argument.

Saphira straightened up and walked to the edge of the roost, keeping her movements slow and careful to avoid jostling her passengers. _'Ready?'_

Sif held on tightly. Behind her, Skandar put his arms around her waist to secure himself. She could feel his chest pressed against her back, and it made her heart pound. _'Yes.'_

The blue dragon took off. By now the sun was going down, and lights were beginning to appear in the city. She circled around it several times, enjoying the wind on her wings. Down by the lake, Sif could see the guests that had already gathered. Tables had been set up and laden with food, though they were difficult to see from this height, and Sif could see people clustered around them, no doubt anticipating the moment when they would be allowed to begin eating.

Saphira, sensing the time was right, flew out toward the lake and circled over the gathering on its shores. As she flew lower, Sif could see people turning their faces upward to look. Several of them cheered. Saphira roared and breathed a puff of blue fire that made a faint _whoof_ sound before it vanished. There were a few yells from the crowd, but as the blue dragon came in to land the cheering broke out much more loudly, joined by applause which increased when Sif raised a hand in greeting.

Saphira landed neatly at the edge of the gathering, and roared again as Sif carefully got down off her back and straightened her gown. Skandar landed neatly beside her, and dusted off his tunic. 'That was fun,' he grinned.

Sif grinned back. 'Let's go! But with dignity,' she added, linking her arm with his.

The two of them walked toward the party. Saphira followed them, halting when she was close enough to see everything around the tables and the area of ground that had been rolled flat to make it better for the dancing. She crouched there comfortably while Sif and Skandar went in among the tables.

Almost instantly they were swamped by people. Dozens of nobles who had not yet had the chance to meet Sif – and others who had met her only briefly and now wanted to reintroduce themselves – crowded around, all clad in their finest and offering their greetings. Sif acknowledged them all with gracious smiles and nods, accepting invitations to dinners and hunting trips and exchanging pleasantries with all those who spoke to her in turn. As for Skandar, he kept silent. He watched them all through slightly narrowed eyes, letting Sif make the introductions on his behalf.

Finally, Sif called for silence. 'Welcome!' she called once the chatter had died down.

She came on until she was at the centre of the dancing-ground, and the guests moved back to give her room.

'Welcome!' she said again. 'Welcome to my dance. I arranged it for you, as my way of saying thankyou for welcoming me into this great city. I am honoured to be here, and I hope very much that my stay will continue to be as pleasant as it has been so far. But for tonight… _we dance!'_

Her listeners responded with cheering and applause, and at her signal the large group of musicians standing on the platform built for them launched into a lively dancing tune.

It was "Dance of the Dragons", one of Sif's favourites, and the guests, already prepared for it, formed themselves into pairs and began to dance.

Before Sif knew what was happening she had been hustled onto the dance floor by a nobleman who had been hovering close to her elbow, obviously waiting for that exact purpose. She went, too polite to refuse, but looked back over her shoulder at Skandar, hoping he would see an apology in her eyes. He shrugged and wandered off, ignoring a lady who was trying to attract his attention.

Sif wasn't able to feel bad about it for very long. Soon she had been caught up in the complicated steps of the Dragon Dance, which she had learned as a small girl in Ilirea. It wasn't an easy dance, but she was ably helped by her partner, whom she quickly recognised – it was Elgin Walden, who had spoken to her several times since her arrival, though each time only briefly. She hadn't known he was such a good dancer.

The first dance ended, and the musicians launched into "Gathering Wheat" with scarcely a pause. After that there was "Willows Wind" and "Dance of the Lordly Peasant", and "The Lonely Maid". Sif danced with several different partners, caught up in the heat and excitement of the evening, letting the rhythm of the music communicate itself to her feet and carry her away.

Eventually the musicians stopped playing, and the dancers were able to leave the dance floor and rest. The first course had been laid out on the tables now, and Sif went straight to the nearest one. Like the others it had been draped in fine white linen and decorated with flowers, and a pair of lamps with brightly-coloured glass had been strategically placed among the dishes. There was bread and vintage cheese, dried fruit, bowls of fresh strawberries and rows of mugs ready to be filled from the barrels that had been set up between the tables. Sif picked one up and handed it to the servant attending the nearest one, who promptly filled it with cider and gave it back to her. She drank deeply; the cider wasn't too strong, but was cool and refreshing thanks to having been stored in the cellars.

Her heart was pounding, and her face was hot, but she couldn't stop grinning. She helped herself to some strawberries and looked around for Skandar, but she couldn't see him among the crowd.

Saphira was still sitting where she'd been before, enjoying a haunch of venison.

'_Saphira, can you see Skandar anywhere?'_

'_I think I saw him a moment ago,'_ said Saphira, glancing up from her food. _'He was having something to eat.'_

'_Oh, well that's all right then. Just keep an eye on him, could you? You know he doesn't like crowds.'_

'_Of course. I think you're going to be dancing again pretty soon.'_

Sif looked around, and found that Elgin had approached her. 'Hello!'

He smiled at her. 'I just wanted to say what a fine dancer you are, my Lady. I thought you were going to knock me off my feet!'

Sif smiled back. 'Oh, it's nothing to boast about, really. I learned that dance when I was eleven. I used to practise it in the dining hall when I was bored. Where did _you_ learn to dance it so well?'

He swallowed a mouthful of cider from his mug. 'My mother taught it to me. Father wasn't very impressed, he said a man shouldn't take too much of an interest in dancing, but Mother said, "Elgin, if you want to win a lady's heart, you don't do it by handling a sword, you do it by dancing. Because ladies don't like swords, but I never met one who didn't like to dance".'

Sif laughed. 'I can handle a sword well enough, my Lord.'

'Oh!' said Elgin. 'Well, I had no intention of insulting you, my Lady. I have no doubt your skill with a blade surpasses your loveliness.'

Sif couldn't help but smile. 'That sounds like a challenge to me. Can _you_ handle a sword, my Lord?'

'Well enough, I think,' said Elgin. 'But not so well as a rider, I'm sure.'

'Oh?' said Sif. He was going out of his way to flatter her, of course, but she couldn't help but enjoy it.

'If you're interested, we could show each other our skills some day,' said Elgin. 'What do you think, my Lady? We could meet in the training yard tomorrow or the day after and enjoy a little sparring. How does that sound?'

'Oh, I've never really had much interest in that sort of thing,' said Sif. 'But I don't see why not. You're on. Tomorrow?'

He grinned. 'Tomorrow. And maybe afterwards we can have lunch together.'

'Agreed,' said Sif. 'And-,'

The music began again, and people started to abandon their food and go back to the dance floor.

Elgin held out his arm. 'Shall we, my Lady?'

Sif drained her mug and put it down. 'Let's see how long you can keep it up, my Lord.'

The evening progressed. The guests danced on as the last of the sun disappeared and the stars came out, stopping again when it was dark and the main course was brought out.

Sif had planned that very carefully, choosing all her favourite dishes. There was roast suckling pig, big, steaming pies full of vegetables and gravy, hazelnut bread, lampreys and roast lark, and sweet elderberry wine.

While they ate, Sif heard cries of astonishment and delight from her fellow guests and looked up in time to see what happened next. A group of servants, who had quietly gathered by the lake, were lighting the special candles that had been made just for this moment and setting them adrift in the lake. More and more of them floated away from the shore, until the lake was studded with hundreds of little yellow points of light, mirroring the stars in the sky.

The guests applauded. Sif, looking on, grinned to herself. It was even more beautiful than she had expected.

After that there was an extended break from the dancing, while people ate and drank and talked. Sif wandered here and there, chatting to various people. She ate heartily – the exercise had given her a big appetite, and drank two cups of the wine. It was delicious, and she felt it soothe and warm her, heightening her already good mood. Her heart was singing. Everything was perfect. It was all just as she had planned. She knew she would remember this evening for the rest of her life.

'_Sif.'_

Sif paused. _'Hello, Saphira! How are you going? Isn't this wonderful? You were right, this dance was a brilliant idea.'_

Saphira gave a mental grin. _'You don't need to tell me. I can feel how happy you are. Go easy on that wine, though.'_

'_Don't worry, I'm watching myself. How are you? You feel a bit… worried?'_

'_It's…'_ Saphira paused. _'Sif, it's Skandar. I've been watching him. I think he's had a bit too much to drink.'_

Sif's heart sank. _'Oh no. Where is he?'_

'_Over by the lakeside, watching the lights.'_

Sif wandered in that direction, drink in hand. There were quite a few people there, eating and drinking and watching the candles drift over the surface of the water. Many of them were sitting down, tired out from the dancing.

She stood among them, looking around. It was quite dark, but she soon spotted the tall, thin shape standing quite close to the water's edge.

'Skandar?'

Skandar was looking out over the lake, but he glanced at her. 'Oh. Hello. I thought I could smell you. I was just thinking…'

Sif noticed he was swaying very slightly. 'Skandar, are you all right?'

'This is where we first met,' said Skandar. 'Do you remember?'

'Yes, of course. How are you liking my dance? I was looking for you earlier, but I couldn't find you anywhere.'

'It's good,' said Skandar. 'I mean… I like the music. I don't like having all these people here. There's too many of them… I can smell them all and it makes me nervous.'

'Have you danced with anyone?' said Sif.

'No.' Skandar stood still for a moment, looking reflectively into the cup in his hand. Then he downed the rest of the contents, and laughed. 'My gods, you were right. This stuff does make you silly. I feel silly.'

'Skandar, you shouldn't drink so much of that,' said Sif. 'How many have you had?'

'A few. I dunno, I lost count.' He turned to look at her properly, and grinned a sudden, mad grin. 'You said it makes you silly, but I didn't know it made you feel so _happy_ as well. Do you humans drink this all the time?'

'A lot of us do. Skandar, I think you should-,'

Behind her, the music began again.

Skandar threw his cup aside and grabbed her arm. 'Come on!' he said. 'It's my turn now. I want to dance.'

Sif pulled her arm out of his grip. He gave her a hurt look, but then she grinned and linked her arm with his. 'All right then, weredragon. I'll teach you something new.'

She led him onto the dance floor, feeling a silly giddiness in her own head. To her surprise, he clasped her in the proper fashion without prompting, and when she began to dance he imitated her. At first he was uncertain and a little clumsy, but this dance was fairly simple and he picked up the steps after a little practise. And then…

And then they were dancing, dancing together, and Sif felt her heart soar as it had not done since the first time she and Saphira had flown together.

He was so _graceful._

The song ended and another one began. This one was slower, quieter and more romantic. Sif knew it; it was called "The Heart of a Rose", and was another favourite of hers. She held Skandar close as the dance dictated, and silently led him in the steps. He picked it up with speed, and then they were moving together, turning and spiralling, locked in each other's arms.

Sif could feel Skandar's breath on her cheek. It was hot, not warm, and smelt slightly of wine. But she could smell him, too, under the alcohol; smell his hot, musky scent. It sent shivers down her spine and made her heart flutter. He was thin but so warm in her arms, and she could feel his own heart beating, steady and strong, like a drum. She closed her eyes. It was bliss.

The song finally ended, and Sif let go with a mixture of reluctance and embarrassment.

Skandar was grinning at her. 'You shouldn't be so nervous!'

Sif blushed. 'Sorry.'

He was giving her that earnest look she recognised so well. 'Am I a good dancer?'

'Yes. You're a great dancer, you're…'

Suddenly he was much closer. 'Yes, Sif?'

She didn't know who had moved. Part of her wanted to pull away, but somehow nothing happened. She was so close to him now, their faces almost touching. 'Skandar…'

'My Lady? Excuse me, my Lady?'

In an instant the moment was broken. Sif turned, and saw Elgin. 'Oh! I… uh… hello, my Lord. I think you've met my friend Lord Skandar?'

Elgin nodded briefly at him. 'Pleased to see you again, my Lord.'

The next song was beginning.

Elgin held out his arm. 'My Lady, would you do me the honour of the next dance?'

'Oh,' said Sif. 'Oh. I, uh-,'

'She's not interested,' Skandar interrupted.

'I believe I was asking the Lady,' Elgin said coldly. 'My Lady?'

'She's not interested,' Skandar said again, pushing forward and glaring at him. 'And you aren't either.'

'I beg you pardon?' said Elgin. The coldness in his voice was suddenly much more pronounced.

'You don't like her,' said Skandar. 'I can smell it on you. I don't want you lying to her. Dance with someone you like.'

Elgin took him by the arm. 'I beg your pardon, my Lord, but-,'

The dancers around them all turned at the sound of Elgin's yell.

The young noble backed away, clutching at his arm. It was bleeding. He stared at Skandar, shock written all over his face. 'You _bit_ me!'

Skandar sneered and wiped a hand across his mouth. 'Blue blood isn't worth much more than the regular sort. It still tastes foul.'

Sif backed away. 'Skandar-!'

The music was still going, but the dancers had stopped. Everyone was staring at Skandar, most shocked, but others frightened. Sif grabbed the weredragon by the shoulder. 'Skandar, I really think-,'

He wasn't listening. With a sudden violent motion he shoved her aside, and ducked out of the way with lightning speed as Elgin recovered from his shock and swung a punch at him. It missed, and Skandar's boot lashed out, catching him in the knee. Elgin fell, and the weredragon advanced, a growl rumbling ever so faintly in his throat.

'You owe me an apology for that,' he said softly.

At this point, Lord Theremin appeared from out of the crowd. 'I think this has gone far enough. Lord Elgin, I suggest you apologise to the Lady and remove yourself from her sight before you offend her any further.'

Elgin got up, wincing, and bowed to Sif. 'I am sorry, my Lady,' he said stiffly. 'I hope this does not taint our friendship.'

'That will be enough, my Lord,' said Theremin. Elgin took the hint and limped off into the crowd.

Everyone was still staring at Skandar.

'As for you,' said Theremin, 'I think it would be best if you left now, my Lord.'

Skandar didn't move.

Sif took him by the elbow. 'Please, just go, Skandar. Please.'

That seemed to get through to him. 'I'm sorry, my Lady,' he muttered. The crowd parted to let him through, and he stalked off toward the city and disappeared.

Sif watched him go, wanting and not wanting to run after him.

Lord Theremin came over to her as the dancing awkwardly resumed. 'Are you all right, my Lady?' he asked gently.

'Fine.'

'Are you sure? That was a rather-,'

'I'm fine,' Sif snapped. 'I am a rider, my I remind you, my Lord, and it would take more than that to upset me.' But she was lying, and she knew it.

'I understand,' said Theremin. 'But… here, come with me.'

Sif went with him willingly enough, and allowed him to provide her with another drink. She sipped it miserably. 'I'm sorry, my Lord, I shouldn't have snapped at you.'

'I understand,' said Theremin. He paused. 'My Lady, I must ask you… are you betrothed to that man?'

Sif looked up sharply. 'Which man?'

'Lord Skandar, my Lady. I mean no offence, but…'

'No. We're just friends.'

Theremin nodded. 'I understand. I would not judge Lord Elgin too harshly, my Lady. No doubt he thought he was defending your honour.'

'Skandar didn't mean any harm,' said Sif. 'I think he…' she thought of saying that he was drunk, but stopped herself. '…Elgin attacked him first.'

'Ah. I understand. I suspect he had had a little too much to drink. Also…' Theremin came a little closer. 'Also,' he added. 'Just confidentially, my Lady, I would advise you to keep your distance from Lord Elgin. The Waldens have very little affection for the new order of riders, my Lady… I think you already know that they had strong ties to the old King, and would naturally regard you as having usurpsed him. But Lord Walden has been urging his son to try and court you, my Lady. No doubt he hopes that a marriage could secure his family's future.'

Sif sighed. 'I know. I already guessed.'

After that the dance resumed, but Sif's heart wasn't in it any more. She stayed off the dance floor and miserably drank another cup of wine. When dessert was served she picked at a bowl of her favourite almond milk pudding for a while before deciding that it was pointless. The magic had gone out of the evening.

She went back to Saphira's side, and the blue dragon needed no explanation. She let Sif get onto her back, and the pair of them flew away and back toward the castle.


	7. In Joy and Sorrow

**Chapter Seven**

**In Joy and Sorrow**

Sif and Saphira made the flight back to the castle in silence. The full moon was well up by now; a perfect, shining orb like a giant pearl. Sif could still see the candles scattered over the lake, and hear the mingled voices of her guests. No doubt some of them would be slightly offended by her leaving, but she didn't care.

Saphira landed on the dragon roost, and Sif slid off her back. While she was removing the saddle, the blue dragon nudged her gently. _'Are you all right?'_

Sif pulled the saddle off and rolled it up. _'I'm going to bed,' _she said briefly.

'_All right. Drink plenty of water first.'_

Sif nodded and climbed down through the trapdoor. There was a room directly beneath the roost which was used to store tack, and she paused there to pack the saddle away in a chest before descending the stairs into the castle proper.

The castle was almost deserted. Most of the servants had gone home for the night, and everyone else was still at the dance. Sif was glad. She didn't feel like talking to anyone just now. She made straight for the living quarters, staggering very slightly. She'd drunk a little too much herself, she knew.

The door to Skandar's room was slightly ajar. Sif had intended to walk right past it, but she stopped in spite of herself when she saw the sliver of light lying over the floor in front of her and after a moment's hesitation she moved closer to peer through the crack.

A fire was burning in the grate, along with a few candles. For a moment it looked as if the room was deserted, but as Sif pushed the door open a little further to check she saw him sitting out on the balcony.

She stood there with the door half-open for a long time, not knowing what to do. Would he be angry with her? A large part of her said that she should leave him alone. He was probably starting to sober up by now, and would be feeling sick and humiliated. She should close the door and go to her own room, and talk to him in the morning.

But another part of her, the part fuelled and encouraged by the wine, said otherwise.

Sif crept into the room and walked toward the door leading onto the balcony, still in two minds about it. But as she got closer she could see him more clearly and her doubts fled away. He was sitting hunched, staring out over the city, hugging his knees as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

Sif stood behind him, a cool breeze blowing on her face. For a moment she thought of calling to him, but she changed her mind and silently sat down next to him, keeping her distance. He didn't react, though she knew he must have seen her.

'Skandar?'

'Hullo,' he mumbled.

'Skandar, I'm sorry about all that,' said Sif. 'I know he was rude to you, but you shouldn't have bitten him.'

Skandar didn't move for a moment. But then he turned his face toward her, and she saw that there were tears shining on his face.

'Skandar-,'

He looked away again. 'I lied.'

Sif's stomach turned. She laid a hand on his arm. 'What, Skandar? What are you talking about?'

He sighed a long, shaky sigh. 'Today you said it must be lonely to be a weredragon, and I said it wasn't. I was lying.'

'Oh, Skandar… it's all right,' said Sif. 'It's not your fault.'

'I know,' said Skandar. 'And it shouldn't bother me, either. Weredragons were made to be solitary. I've been alone most of my life. It's just that… I've never felt alone. But down there when they were all staring at me like that… I felt alone then. And I still feel alone.'

'I shouldn't have invited you,' said Sif. 'I should've known you wouldn't like it…'

'No. I wanted to come. I wanted to make myself belong. For you. I knew you wanted me to be there. I was enjoying it for a while, but now I've…' he shuddered. 'I'm sorry, Sif. I made a mistake. I've embarrassed us both. I know I shouldn't have bitten that man, but he made me so angry. I knew he didn't like you. He wanted to court you and… mate with you, but he didn't like you. I could smell it. I thought I was protecting you from him.'

'Skandar, men are all like that,' said Sif. 'There are dozens of them who'll try and bed a woman they don't love. I wouldn't have gone with him.'

Skandar gave her that same wide-eyed look he'd given her back in the infirmary. 'I don't like it. I don't like them. They're fakes and liars. You shouldn't spend your time with them, Sif. They'll just use you. Trusting people you hardly know always means betrayal.'

Sif felt inexplicably ashamed. 'I know some of them aren't very nice people, but I can live with that.'

'Can you, Sif?'

'You have to trust people,' said Sif. 'Otherwise you'll make yourself lonely.'

'Like I trusted my father,' Skandar muttered.

'What, Skandar?'

He looked away from her. 'I trusted my father more than anyone else in the world. And I loved him. He and my mother were my whole world. We had no home. We were forced to leave it when I was very small. I spent most of my childhood travelling. We were trying to cross the plains beyond Du Weldenvarden. It's harsh country out there. Cold. Barren. But my father believed there was something else on the other side… somewhere we could make a new home for ourselves. My mother had doubts, but I didn't. I believed everything he told me. Sometimes we didn't eat for days, but we kept going. We trusted him.' Skandar sighed and rubbed his eyes. 'And then he got sick. We kept on going; he believed he would get better once we got where we were going. But we never got there. My father died somewhere out there in the snow. My mother died as well, a few days later. I… I was there. I saw them die. I laid them out together, on the snow, next to each other… I kept calling to them, trying to wake them up… I didn't really understand they were dead. I pleaded with them not to leave me all alone, but…'

Sif had put her hand on his arm while he spoke. She didn't dare say anything, but held onto him, trying to communicate with him through touch that she was there and that she cared about him.

Skandar's voice had been getting quieter and more halting. '…and then a snowstorm blew up. So much snow the sky turned white. I tried to keep it off them, but there was so much of it… I saw it bury them, cover them up until they were gone and there was nothing but snow. It was like the storm took them away from me. And… and that was the day I changed again. I flew away as a dragon and never went back, and ever since then it's been just me, Skandar. The last weredragon.'

Sif embraced him tightly. There were tears burning in her eyes, but she held him close, never wanting to let him go. He resisted briefly but then relaxed and returned the embrace, though lightly. 'Sif, please…'

She let go. 'You don't have to be alone, Skandar. You don't have to. It's your choice.'

He looked at her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. 'Is it, Sif?'

'Yes. Yes, Skandar, it is. If you don't want to be alone…'

Skandar grasped her hand. 'Come to Ilirea with me, Sif. I want you with me.'

'I will,' said Sif, without a moment's hesitation. 'I'd go anywhere with you, Skandar.'

'You would?'

'Yes.' Sif moved closer to him. 'Anywhere, Skandar. Anywhere.'

He pulled away slightly, but she didn't notice. Caught up in the moment, still giddy from the wine, she threw caution to the winds and kissed him.

She pressed her lips against his, breathing his scent, feeling his sharp teeth through his lips, drinking in his essence just for a moment, and her heart was singing, flooding with wonderful joy and warmth, and she knew in that moment that she had done the right thing because she loved him, yes she did, she loved him…

Skandar pushed her away. 'Don't.'

It was as if he had struck her. Sif stared at him, frozen for a moment, but a kind of madness took over and she kissed him again. For a moment he kissed her back, but then he pulled away.

'_No,'_ he said again. 'Please. Don't do that.'

Sif took him by the hands. 'Why?' she said, too loudly. 'What's wrong with it? Am I not good enough for you?'

'Just don't,' said Skandar. 'Please. Not now. I'm sorry, but…'

Sif scrambled to her feet, burning with embarrassment. He stood too, but as she turned to leave he went after her and pulled her into a hug.

Sif fought to get free for a moment, but then she submitted. She didn't try to kiss him again. He said nothing, only held her.

'I am sorry,' he whispered at last. 'I don't want to hurt you, Sif.'

They parted. 'You wouldn't,' said Sif. 'I know you wouldn't.'

He shook his head. 'No, Sif. You've only known me a few days. It's too soon to say that.'

Sif looked him in the face, taking in all his features but especially his eyes. Now that they were so close, she saw that they were not just black. She could see his pupils, just visible against the dark irises, and they were the vertical slits of a dragon.

She looked away, staring at the ground. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, but… I really like you, Skandar. You're not like any man I've ever met, and I just…' her voice broke off abruptly on a sob, and tears started to wet her face.

'Hey…' Skandar lifted her chin with his hand, and gently wiped away her tears. 'Don't cry, Sif. I really like you too, you know. You're the only friend I've ever had. You gave me the first proper home I've known since I was born. I like being with you.'

Sif felt a sweet pain in her chest. 'I hoped you would stay here with me.'

Skandar looked out over the city. 'Look at all that,' he said. 'All those lights. This place is so big, and there are so many people living in it. And this is just one city. There must be so many others out there. I never knew the world was such a big place. It makes no sense to me, Sif. It's a world of humans, and I'm not human and I never will be.'

Sif took his hand. 'I could teach you, Skandar…'

He turned to look her in the face again. 'That's why I asked you to come with me to Ilirea,' he said earnestly. 'You make sense of this place for me. If I went out there on my own, I don't know what I'd do. I need you there, Sif. I need you to help me.'

The wine was wearing off now. 'I don't know,' said Sif. 'I want to come, but… I'm supposed to be governing this city. I have duties… I'm under orders from the King.'

He gave her a look full of heartbreaking hurt and confusion, but then looked away. 'I understand. I mean… I just hoped… it's all right.'

'What are you going to do once you've spoken to the King?' said Sif.

'I don't know. Maybe go to the Spine, see if I can win a territory and live there as a dragon. Or maybe the King could let me be his vassal and do his will. But I don't know if I could live like that.'

'You could come back here,' said Sif. 'I mean… I'd like it if you did.'

'No,' said Skandar. 'I couldn't live here. It's not right for me. I don't know… I was thinking before you came in that if all human places are like this, perhaps I should just leave. Go back to the wild where I used to live and forget all about it.'

Fear shot through Sif's heart. 'But if you do that, I'd never see you again.'

'I know.'

Sif backed off slightly, watching the tall figure standing in the doorway to the balcony. 'I need to think about this,' she said. 'I should write to my mother… ask her advice, see if I can get permission to come back…'

'No, don't worry about it,' said Skandar. 'I'll go on my own.'

Her heart sank. 'When?'

'Tomorrow. Early.'

'Please, don't,' said Sif. 'It's too soon-,'

He finally turned to look at her. 'So you really do want to come with me?'

'Yes. Please, don't leave without me.'

Skandar smiled and touched her on the shoulder. 'All right, then. I'll wait for you.'

Sif smiled back in relief. 'Thankyou, Skandar. Thankyou.'

'It's late,' said Skandar. 'You should probably get some sleep, or you'll be useless tomorrow.'

'Yes, you're right,' said Sif. 'Goodnight, Skandar. I'll see you in the morning.'

He nodded. 'Sleep well.'

Sif made for the door, feeling slightly giddy. She paused as she opened it, and looked back. 'Thankyou, Skandar.'

He had followed her a short distance and was standing by the fireplace now. The firelight moved shadows over his face, hiding his expression. 'No,' he said in a low voice. 'Thank _you_, Sif.'

Sif had expected to wake up the next day feeling ill, and was surprised to discover that she felt fine. She must have sobered up enough before bed to have avoided a hangover.

Nevertheless, she didn't get out of bed right away but lay there for a while, enjoying the warmth, and thinking. In spite of the previous night's turmoil, she felt quite calm. Only one thought was occupying her mind. She immersed herself in it, letting it warm her from end to end like an extra blanket.

She was in love with Skandar.

She woke up knowing it, not as a matter of thought or emotion but simply as a matter of fact. She had loved him ever since they had talked together in the infirmary, when he had given her that wide-eyed look, and that shy smile. She had been in love with him every day since then, but she hadn't known it until that moment on the balcony when she had kissed him.

It gave her a pang to remember how he had pushed her away, but still, she told herself, not wanting to lose the happy glow she was currently basking in, he hadn't _rejected_ her. He'd said he liked her, hadn't he? She let the memory of his voice sound in her head. _I really like you too,_ he'd said. _I like being with you. You're the only friend I've ever had. _

Sif went over their conversation in her mind, over and over again. He liked her. Maybe he loved her back. If he wasn't ready to take it further, that didn't mean anything. She could wait, and when the time came…

Sif got out of bed and started to dress. She'd go to Ilirea with him, and orders be damned. If she let him go alone, there was no telling what could happen. He could get into trouble, get lost or hurt. He needed her there to help him. He was so strong, but so vulnerable, and he couldn't know what might happen if he showed up at Ilirea alone and unannounced. And more than that she knew that if she let him go she would never stop regretting it.

She opened the wardrobe and began to take out all the gowns she couldn't bear to leave behind, including the one she'd worn to the dance. Once she'd whittled the collection down to a manageable size she started to fold them up and put them back into her clothes bag. She would leave soon; tomorrow or the day after, depending on how long it took to organise things.

While she was packing, she tried to contact Saphira but found her still asleep. She abandoned her work and left the room, thinking to visit Skandar and give him the news.

There was no reply when she knocked on his door. She tried again, calling his name, but there was no sound from the other side. Suddenly afraid, she tried the handle. It turned, and she went in.

Skandar's room was deserted. The candles had burnt down and the fireplace was full of cold ashes. The bed had clearly not been slept in, and the door to the balcony was shut. Panic-stricken, Sif started to search the room and found that the cupboard that had contained the clothes she'd given him was empty. He was gone. He'd left.

Sif left the room and ran off into the castle, heart pounding. He wasn't in the library, or the infirmary, or the dining hall. The large window-sill in the Western corridor where he'd liked to perch was unoccupied. Sif checked all his favourite haunts and questioned everyone she met, but no-one had seen him.

Finally, out of breath and in tears, she wandered into the courtyard and leaned on the statue of Galbatorix, her head in her hands. She could hardly believe it. Skandar had lied. He hadn't waited for her. He'd left the city, left her behind.

She started to sob. He was gone. She'd scared him off, made him leave, driven him away…

'_Sif!'_

Sif started and stared blankly downward. Something had caught her eye.

She bent to look more closely. Someone had left a flower at the base of the statue.

'_Sif, what are you so upset about?'_

Sif picked up the flower and clutched it tightly. _'Skandar's gone,'_ she said hoarsely. _'I went to visit him in his room and he wasn't there. His things are gone. He's left, Saphira I-,'_

'_Sif-,'_

'_-I made him leave!'_ Sif said wildly, not listening. _'I'm an idiot. I'm in love with him, Saphira. I shouldn't have _said_ anything! I shouldn't have kissed him.' _

'_Sif!'_

'_Saphira, what should I do? Where did he go? Did you see him-?'_

'_Sif he hasn't gone,'_ Saphira half-shouted. _'He's up here on the dragon-roost, I've been _trying_ to tell you-,'_

Sif jerked upright. _'What?'_

'_I told you, he's here with me. He's waiting for you and he's asking me to call you up here. He said you must get your things and come as quickly as you can.'_

'_What? What things?'_

'_Anything you want to bring with you. He says we're leaving right now.'_

'_What? But that's not-,'_

Saphira shared a feeling of urgency. _'Sif, hurry! He's not going to wait forever. He says he doesn't want to leave you behind but if you don't come soon he'll have to leave.'_

Sif dropped the flower and ran.

Without stopping to rest, and ignoring everyone in her path, she made straight for her room. There she pulled on her cloak, strapped her sword to her back, stuffed a few more things into her bag and ran out again, half-dragging it behind her. Saphira continued to urge her on as she ran for the dragon roost as fast as she could, staggering a little under the weight of her baggage. She mounted the stairs, forced to stop and rest several times before she reached the top. Getting the bag up the ladder was hard, but she managed it, and finally climbed out through the trapdoor and into the open air, gasping and exhausted.

Saphira was there, of course. _'Sif! There you are.'_

But Sif wasn't looking at her. She was looking at the other dragon that was standing on the edge of the roost. Male, big and lithe, with steel-grey scales, silver wings and long black talons, his head crowned by six long, curled horns. His blunt-snouted head was turned toward her, and she could see his black eyes focused on her.

'_At last,'_ Skandar's voice said in her head – it was deeper and harsher, but still unmistakeably his.

Sif walked toward him, almost awestruck. 'My gods,' she whispered. 'I can't believe I didn't see it before.'

He raised himself slightly, front paws shifting on the stonework. There was a little heap of clothing lying just in front of them. _'See what?'_

'You look the same,' said Sif. 'As a dragon. I can recognise you. The eyes… it's all in your eyes.'

He growled very softly. _'Well of course. It's still me. Now, are you coming with me?'_

Sif pulled herself together. _'Skandar, what are you doing? We can't leave now!'_

He gave her a steady look. _'I told you, I'm leaving today. I would have left at dawn, but I promised I would wait for you. I brought Saphira's saddle up for you.'_

'_That's not what I meant!'_ said Sif. _'I told you, I have things I have to do before I leave! I have to write to Ilirea to tell them I'm coming! I have to appoint a governor to take over my duties while I'm gone! I have to-,'_

'_They can sort it out for themselves. Listen to me,'_ he said calmly. _'I'm leaving today. I intend to fly away from this city before the sun is halfway overhead, and there's nothing that can change that. If you want to come with me, then get on Saphira's back and come with me now. Otherwise, you can stay here in a city you don't know with people you don't like, and keep on doing a job you know you're not cut out for, and miss out on whatever happens when I get to Ilirea. And in all likeliness you won't see me again, because I am not going to come back to this city.'_

Sif felt herself crumble inside. _'But…'_

He stared at her, his black eyes fathomless, almost hypnotic. _'Choose.'_

Sif looked away from him. _'Saphira, what should I do?'_

The blue dragon had moved away a little. _'Sif, I don't think this is a good idea. We'll be in trouble.'_

Skandar couldn't have heard their exchange, but he moved closer to the edge of the roost, his wings opening slightly.

Sif ran to him. 'No! Please, don't go-,'

He turned away a little, one front paw reaching out to pick up a large bundle wrapped in leather, and held it against his chest. _'Choose,'_ he said again.

Saphira's mind was radiating worry. _'Sif…'_

In the end, it was the look in Skandar's eyes that made up her mind. She picked up the saddle and carried it over to Saphira. _'We're going.'_

Saphira hesitated, but then crouched to let her fasten it in place. _'Sif, this is madness.'_

'_No it's not,'_ said Sif.

'_We can't _do_ this!'_

Sif pulled the straps into place with practised ease, and then hurried to get her bag. _'No. I've made up my mind.'_

'_But-,'_

'_I love him,'_ Sif said calmly, hoisting the bag onto Saphira's back and attaching it to the saddle. _'And I am not going to let him go. I can write to Mother when we reach Bullridge.'_

'_Sif-,'_

Sif got onto Saphira's back and did up the straps to hold her legs in place. _'You've always told me to follow my heart, Saphira. Well that's what I'm going to do. Now let's go.'_

Skandar had been watching, and he grinned, a humanlike expression that looked a little menacing on a dragon's face. _'Thankyou, Sif. I knew you wouldn't let me down. Now let's go!'_

He turned and leapt from the roost, wings opening wide, and flew up over the castle with a loud _whoosh_ of air. Saphira took off after him, and as he levelled out and began to fly Southward he let out a loud, triumphant roar.


	8. Pictures in the Stars

**Chapter Eight**

**Pictures in the Stars**

Sif had already told given Skandar directions toward Ilirea, and the grey dragon obviously remembered them because he quickly set out to follow the river that led toward Bullridge. Saphira fell in behind him, riding on the slipstream, and both she and Sif expected him to settle down into a steady glide once they were well on their way.

He didn't. Sif had never seen a dragon fly so fast. The weredragon kept his wings beating almost constantly, climbing higher all the time, until the ground below looked tiny. Trees became green blobs, mountains little brown mounds poking out of farmland that suddenly looked like a little patchwork quilt, the river snaking through it as a thin black line, like a piece of discarded thread. Sif had never flown this high. It was icy up here, and the air was thin.

Skandar didn't seem to mind. His flight was graceful as well as fast, and he seemed to be enjoying himself; he rolled lazily in the air, turning on his side and then over onto his back, flying upside-down for a moment before he righted himself and then executed a series of spectacular loops and dives. Sif could hear him whooping in excitement, and grinned to herself. He was colder and fiercer in dragon form, but underneath that he was still Skandar. Nevertheless, she hoped he'd fly lower soon.

He didn't do that either. He stopped horsing around before long and settled into more straightforward but rapid flight, heading directly Southward and using the river only as a rough guide. Saphira had to work hard to keep up with him, and after a while Sif began to feel nervous. _'What's he doing?'_ she asked, lying flat against the blue dragon's neck.

'_Obviously he wants to get there fast,'_ said Saphira. _'The higher you are, the further you can go. I don't like this… if he hasn't slowed down by midday, I'm going to ask him to.'_

Midday came. Sif, keeping close to Saphira's scales in order to keep warm, was cold and ravenously hungry. There was no food in her bag, and she'd missed breakfast. Skandar was still up ahead. He had slowed a little, but not much, and he was showing no signs of flying lower or stopping to rest.

Saphira had obviously sensed her rider's discomfort, for she opened her mouth wide and roared at Skandar. He roared back, but did not slow down. Saphira called again, but got the same response.

'_What are you doing?'_ said Sif. _'Why don't you just talk to him?'_

'_I tried. He didn't answer.'_

Sif tried reaching out with her own mind. She managed to find Skandar; his mind was distracted, all its attention focused on flight.

'_Skandar! Skandar!'_

There was no answer. Sif kept calling, becoming increasingly agitated, until she finally heard his voice.

'_Hm? What? Sif?'_

'_Skandar, we have to-,'_

The grey dragon lurched slightly in the air. _'What? What is it?'_

'_Skandar, you're going too fast. I'm hungry and Saphira needs to rest.'_

His voice was dismissive. _'What, you can't deal with a little hunger? Is Saphira about to fall out of the sky?'_

'_Well, no, but-,'_

'_Good. Then let's keep going.' _He sped up slightly.

'_Skandar! I have to eat, damn it!'_

'_We'll eat when we get there!' _he yelled back. _'I'll make you something! Promise!'_

Sif sighed miserably and slumped in the saddle. She made a few more half-hearted attempts to make him slow down, but he was ignoring her now and she knew it was futile.

'_Bullridge, then,'_ she mumbled, to Saphira. _'We can rest there. Saphira, do you think you can make it?'_

'_Easily, but can you?'_

That stung her slightly. _'Of course I can! Skandar's right, I can deal with a little hunger. I'm not weak.'_

'_All right, all right. I believe you.'_ Saphira sped up too.

Sif held on, making a more determined effort now to resist the wind. She wasn't going to let herself look weak in front of Skandar. She'd show him she was strong, she wouldn't disappoint him. She could hold on until they reached Bullridge. At this rate they'd be there before dark anyway…

Time dragged on, and by the time Bullridge came into view Sif's stomach was actually painful. But she felt wonderfully relieved when she saw the town getting closer.

'_We're there. Thank gods.'_

Skandar was still ahead, but as he neared Bullridge he showed no sign of flying lower.

Sif managed to contact him. _'Skandar, we're there. We're at Bullridge. We can stop for the night.'_

'_We're not going to Bullridge!' _Skandar called back. _'We're going to Ilirea!'_

'_Skandar-!'_

But it was already too late. The grey dragon had passed straight over Bullridge and was already flying on.

Sif groaned and slumped over Saphira's neck. _'Oh no… he's mad! We can't keep going like this!'_

Saphira had slowed down. _'What in the gods' names is he doing? Is he expecting us to fly all the way to Ilirea in one day?'_

'_That's how it looks. Gods, Saphira, I can't keep this up, I'm starving and freezing cold.'_

'_We could stop at Bullridge anyway,'_ Saphira suggested. _'I mean, we know he's going to Ilirea, we could catch up with him tomorrow…'_

'_But I want to arrive with him.'_

'_Why?'_

'_I don't know, I just do,'_ Sif said stubbornly.

'_Well I'm going to put a stop to this right now,'_ Saphira snarled.

The blue dragon put her head down, braced herself, and shot forward, flying straight at Skandar. She thrashed her wings with all her strength, closing the gap between them, until she was bearing down on him.

'_What are you doing?'_ Sif yelled, holding on for dear life.

'_I'm going to catch him and force him to turn around,'_ said Saphira, and redoubled her efforts.

At first Skandar didn't notice her, but then he glanced over his shoulder and saw her coming straight for him. Instantly he angled his wings and made a sharp turn in midair, so fast that Saphira went straight past him at high speed and then floundered to go after him. Skandar was more than ready for her. He flew off with an easy flick of his wings, still heading Southward, and when Saphira went in pursuit he dodged her, rolling and looping and darting here and there, sometimes passing very close but always avoiding her talons.

After a little while, he started to make a strange sound – a kind of coughing, growling noise. Sif had never heard a dragon make a sound like that in her life.

It took her some time to realise that he was laughing.

Saphira made another lunge at him and missed, and he laughed all the harder when she roared her frustration at him.

Finally, Saphira gave up. _'Damn him!'_ she shouted.

Sif couldn't help it; she laughed.

'_Shut up.'_

It was clear that Skandar had won the battle, and he continued to lead them as the afternoon advanced and the sun sank inexorably toward the horizon. Sif finally fell asleep in the saddle; slipping into a shallow and uncomfortable doze with her head resting on Saphira's neck. She was only asleep for a short time, but she dreamed that her father was there; the carving on his tomb had come to life and was standing there in front of her, talking to her, trying to tell her something, but he was too far away and she couldn't hear him.

She woke up with an unpleasant jolt, to find that it was now almost completely dark. The sun was half down and they were still flying, and her hunger was now a great burning mass inside her. She was horribly stiff from being in the saddle so long, and there was a nasty taste in her mouth too.

Sif groaned and put a hand over her face. _'What's… where…?'_

'_I think we're nearly there,' _said Saphira. _'But I don't know how we're going to see in the dark…'_

Sif's heart sank. _'Oh gods. What am I going to do? If I show up there without any warning…'_

'_Don't worry,' _Saphira said sourly._ 'Just tell them you're in love with him, I'm sure they'll understand.'_

'_Don't be like that, Saphira.'_

The blue dragon sighed as she let an updraught lift her a little higher. Skandar was still just visible ahead of them, but he'd slowed down a fair bit by now. _'I'm sorry. But I've been flying all day without any rest, and I'm tired and thirsty. And I think I'm the one who should be more worried. When the King finds out about this, _I'm_ the one who's going to get it in the neck. After all, I was supposed to be making you act responsibly but I helped you abandon your duties.'_

'_I'm sure it'll be all right,'_ Sif said nervously. _'Look, we can be back there in a couple of days. What difference will a couple of days make? A few documents won't get signed straight away. What's so terrible about that?'_

'_I suppose you're right,'_ said Saphira. _'But I doubt the King will see it that way.'_

'_Well,'_ said Sif. _'Skandar's a dragon, isn't he? Some of the time. You know the King favours dragons. If one wanted us to help him, he would've wanted us to do as he asked, wouldn't he?'_

'_We'll just have to hope that's the case. Hey! Look!'_

Sif looked around blindly. _'Look at what?'_

'_Oh. Right.'_

Saphira sent her a mental image of the landscape in front of them. There, dimly visible amongst the blackness, was a spot of light.

Sif sighed. _'Ilirea! Thank gods!'_

'_I'll say. Just a little while longer, and we're there. And even if we're in trouble, at least you'll get to sleep in your old bed again.'_

'_Gods, sleeping anywhere would be wonderful right now.'_

'_Ugh, I know how you feel. Well, let's get this over with…'_

The sun had finished setting by the time they finally reached Ilirea, and both Sif and Saphira had lost sight of Skandar. For a brief time it appeared as if they had lost him, but they found him circling over the city, still high up.

'_There you are,'_ he said, on seeing them. _'Sif, is that the King's wood over there to the South?'_

'_Yes.'_

'_Thank gods, I'm exhausted. Well, I'll see you there.'_ He flew off.

Sif had expected Saphira to shout again at this, but the blue dragon only sighed. _'There he goes again. Shall we follow him or what?'_

Sif settled down in the saddle. _'We may as well,'_ she said resignedly.

They made the last short flight to the mountain, and Saphira managed to land at the edge of the trees, where she promptly flopped onto her belly and lay there, groaning.

Sif could feel the dragon's aching muscles through their mental link. Suddenly feeling guilty over all the hard work Saphira had done on her behalf, Sif fumbled with the straps holding her bag onto the saddle and let it fall off onto the ground. Her fingers were numb, but she managed to undo the leg-straps on the saddle and slid off Saphira's back, landing with a painful thump.

Saphira winced. _'Ow. I felt that. Are you all right?'_

Sif managed to get up after a few attempts, and rubbed her numb legs. _'Fine. Where's Skandar?'_

Saphira lifted her snout. _'Up ahead in the trees somewhere, I think. I can smell him.'_ She sighed and staggered to her claws. _'Well come on. Let's get it over with.'_

Sif slung her bag over her shoulder and limped into the trees by Saphira's side. Somewhere under the layers of tiredness and dull pain, she was amazed that she could keep on going like this. She had never been so exhausted in her life.

Skandar was waiting for them not too far away, by the bank of a stream that had been divirted through the forest from the Ramr river. He was still in dragon shape, and his sides were heaving, but he looked up at their approach.

'_Hello… Sif,'_ he mumbled, and then let his head drop back onto the leaf-litter.

Saphira made no comment. She stumbled over to the nearest tree and promptly collapsed at its base.

Sif dropped her bag and went to her. _'Are you all right?'_

Saphira covered her head with her wing. _'I am never flying again. Ever.'_

Sif grinned and sat down against her flank. _'Well thank gods it's over.'_

Skandar sighed and got up. _'My gods, I haven't flown that fast for that long in years. I'm dead-beat. Not sure I have the energy to change back.'_

Sif glared at him. _'Well why in the gods' names did you go and do that anyway? Look at Saphira! She's exhausted!'_

He grinned. _'Wasn't it fun?'_

'_Fun? Are you mad? I'm freezing cold, I ache all over, I haven't eaten a thing all day, and when everyone finds out I ran away from Gil'ead without even writing to Mother I'll be roasted alive!'_

Skandar started at that. _'What? They're going to _kill_ you? For gods' sakes, why?'_

'_No, I don't mean that,'_ said Sif. _'I mean I'll be in a lot of trouble.'_

'_Oh.'_ He relaxed. _'Well you don't have to write to anyone now, do you? Just tell them yourself.'_

Sif lay back angrily. _'You're so _annoying!_ Don't you understand? Thanks to you I'll be in all kinds of trouble. I'll be shouted at, maybe punished…'_

Skandar stood up. _'No you won't. Sif, you did the right thing. Listen to me.'_ His voice was gentle, almost human again. _'I am going to talk to the King tomorrow. I intend to tell him that you saved my life, and that you only left Gil'ead because I forced you to. I'll take all the blame. He won't be angry with you; he'll be pleased! Because you brought me here!'_

'_And how do you know he'll be glad to see you?'_ said Sif.

'_Of course he will,'_ said Skandar. _'I'm the last of a very powerful race. When he knows that, and knows that I came in order to swear myself to him, he'll be happy. You told me yourself he likes to be flattered, and I intend to flatter him a great deal. If you helped me come here, that'll make him forget anything you might have done wrong. He might even reward you instead of punish you.'_

Sif started to feel a little better. _'Well…'_

'_And afterwards,'_ Skandar resumed, _'Afterwards I shall go to the city and introduce myself to your mother and the other riders, and I'll explain what happened and make sure they blame me rather than you. If your mother gets angry and shouts, I'll protect you. Trust me.'_

Sif thought it over. _'Does that mean I have to stay here all night?'_

'_Unless you want to face them all on your own, yes. Now…' _Skandar yawned and stretched like a cat, _'I'm going to need you to look away for a while.'_

'_Why?'_

'_Because you wouldn't like watching what I'm about to do. Trust me. I'll tell you when you can look back.'_

'_But what are you-?'_

'_You'll see. Or, rather, you won't,'_ The grey dragon turned and lumbered away a short distance. From there he looked back at her. _'Go on, look away. I mean it, turn your head away. I'm going to wait until you do.'_

Sif obeyed. _'All right, I'm not looking…'_

There was no reply. She head a thump from Skandar's direction. For a while there was nothing but ominous silence, and then…

Sif's eyes opened wide. She kept her head turned away, but it was all she could do to keep it that way. Sickening cracking and tearing noises were coming from behind her, wet-sounding, as if some living creature were being torn apart limb from limb. They increased, mixed with a desperate scrabbling of claws, and then Skandar started to moan. It was only very faint, but Sif could hear it well enough, and it was full of very human pain. As the horrible sounds increased he began to whine and snarl, almost wailing. Saphira too had looked away, but Sif could feel her own distress.

Her stomach was churning. She desperately wanted to look, but she was too afraid.

Finally, Skandar roared. It was a thin, strained roar that went on for some time. Then, without warning, it broke. The sound became higher, suddenly strangely distorted before it modulated into a human cry of pain. The noise of tearing and breaking stopped abruptly, and then the yelling stopped as well, replaced with ragged, gasping breathing.

Sif still didn't dare turn around. She stayed where she was, hands clenched, listening to the plaintive sound.

Finally, Skandar's voice spoke from behind her. 'You… can… you can look… now.'

Sif turned, terrified about what she might see. The moon was up by now, and its light showed her Skandar, lying sprawled on the ground in his elvish form, his pale skin appearing almost pure white.

She stood up. 'Skandar!'

Skandar groaned and sat up. 'I'm… all right. Just need a few minutes to rest. I hope that wasn't… too bad for you.'

'That was horrible,' said Sif. 'I heard… are you all right?'

'Fine, fine. Look, see? I can stand.' Skandar stood up, swaying a little, and staggered forward, covering his groin with his hands. 'I, uh… just excuse me a moment while I get myself some clothes.'

Sif blushed and looked away again while he fumbled with the bundle of things he'd carried with him. There was the sound of rustling cloth for a few moments, and then he said; 'All right, I'm decent.'

She looked back. He was wearing one of the outfits she'd given him in Gil'ead, but she suddenly noticed that he looked a little different now. His hair was long again and had turned back to silver, and his chin was bristling with black hair.

'How did you do that?' she asked.

Skandar peered at her. 'Well, I'm a weredragon, aren't I? Changing back isn't very nice, but I don't make camp so well when I'm dragon-shaped.'

'I mean your hair,' said Sif. 'How did you make it change back? And your beard…'

He touched it. 'Oh. Whoops.'

'What happened?'

'Well, I don't really know how it works, but… well my body remembers, see?' Skandar gave her a hopeful look, and then shrugged. 'I mean that when I change back into this shape, my magic remembers how it was the last time I was in it. I was tired when I changed this time, so I forgot about the brown hair and everything. So it looks like I've got my beard back… sort of.' He touched his ears. 'And my ears are pointed. But that's all right. I'd prefer for the King to see me as I really am, and there's no need for a disguise any more anyway.'

'I like you better like that,' Sif said shyly.

Skandar grinned. 'Having brown hair was nice, but I wouldn't have wanted it like that forever. Now…' he started to pace around the clearing by the stream, stretching his legs. He came to a stop by his bundle, and yawned. 'All right. That's better. Now, I'm going to go and get us something to eat. Could you drag some wood together while I'm gone?'

'Of course,' said Sif. 'But, look, can't we go into the city? I'm sure they'd be happy to give you a bed…'

Skandar wrinkled his nose. 'I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you. I'm used to sleeping outdoors; being inside makes me nervous. I never used that bed you gave me anyway.'

Sif remembered the surprisingly tidy-looking bedclothes. 'You didn't? Why?'

'Too soft,' Skandar said briefly, going to the centre of the clearing. He scuffed at the ground with his boot. 'Here looks like a good spot. Clear away all the leaf-litter, and make a ring of stones. We don't want to set the forest on fire.'

'All right, I know how to make a campfire, thankyou,' Sif said acidly.

He smiled at her. 'Sorry. I assumed you'd slept indoors all your life.'

That was actually true, but Sif was too proud to admit it. She went over to the spot and started to dig away the layer of pine-needles from the ground, exposing the dirt underneath.

'Thanks,' said Skandar. 'I'll be back fairly soon.'

Sif looked up at him as he started to leave. 'Are you going hunting?'

'Yes. I'll look for berries and things too.'

She looked him up and down. 'But don't you need a bow or something?'

Skandar grinned, showing his sharp teeth. 'Of course not.'

He disappeared, so quickly and silently that it was as if he had made himself vanish using magic rather than stealth. It gave Sif a little chill.

Saphira was asleep. Sif finished clearing a large patch of ground and then took some rocks from the river-bank, arranging them in a neat ring around the edges. It took some time; she was tired and kept fumbling with the rocks as she picked them up. Still, she knew it had to be done if she wanted to eat, so she kept working patiently until it was done and then started to gather wood, though it made her uneasy to be taking it from the King's forest. Still, she reminded herself, it wasn't as if he was using it for anything.

As she was stacking the wood inside the circle, Skandar came back. He was moving slowly and dragging the carcass of one of the King's giant deer behind him.

He dumped it next to the fire, and slumped down next to it. 'Phew! That thing's heavy! Never seen a deer that size before.'

'All the deer in this forest are huge,' Sif explained. 'The King made them grow.'

'He did? Why?'

'Because he's so big himself that he needs a lot of food. Ordinary deer wouldn't be enough for him. He likes it when people bring him food, too, though.'

Skandar rubbed his chin. 'Is that so? I'll have to take him something, then.' He looked at the fireplace. 'Good job! That'll make a nice fire. Here, just let me light it-,'

'It's all right-,' Sif began.

Skandar took in a deep breath and expelled it with a loud _cough_, and Sif leapt backward in fright as a black fireball the size of her head hit the heap of wood, setting it ablaze almost instantly.

She gaped at Skandar. 'You didn't tell me you could do that!'

The weredragon grinned back. 'Didn't you wonder why I'm so warm to touch? I've got fire inside me. Doesn't matter what shape I am. Now, just you sit down and warm yourself up and I'll start cooking this thing.'

Sif was more than happy to obey. The fire was ordinary yellow and orange now, but it burned strongly and gave off a lot of heat. She sat down close to it and sighed as the warmth soaked into her bones, soothing her aches and pains.

Meanwhile Skandar had rummaged around in his bundle of belongings and had unearthed a knife. He returned to the dead deer and calmly hacked off one of its back legs. Sif tried not to watch, but she couldn't help herself. The weredragon worked quickly and efficiently, as if he had done this hundreds of times before – which, she realised, he probably had. As the leg came free with one final wrench the deer's head flopped limply back onto the ground and she could see the bloodied bite-mark on its neck.

She cringed. 'You killed it with your _teeth?'_

Skandar was already skinning the leg and cutting slices off it. 'Of course.'

'That's disgusting.'

'Why? You eat meat, don't you?'

'Well, yes, but…'

'Well, it's not really that much different,' said Skandar. 'Anyway, how do humans kill their food?'

'We generally use knives and things,' said Sif.

'Hah, but you still do it, don't you?' said Skandar. 'Personally, I think food tastes better if you hunt and kill it yourself. These teeth aren't just for decoration, you know. Right, that's that done.' He had impaled several thick slices of meat on a green stick, and now jammed the other end into the ground so that the meat hung over the fire. 'That one's for you. I'll just do mine.'

Sif watched him uncertainly. She had never seen this side of him before. Now he was out here, in what was technically the wilderness, he didn't act like he had acted back in Gil'ead. There was no awkwardness, no halting conversation, no air of nervousness. He wasn't giving her that wide-eyed look any more. He no longer had that appearance of not knowing what he was doing.

But that was it, she thought suddenly. That was exactly it, and as soon as she realised it she felt a rush of understanding. Because in Gil'ead he had been uncertain and naïve and out of place, but now he was _here_… now he was here he looked so much more graceful, moving and speaking with an authority he had not had before. Before she had been seeing him in a place he didn't understand, where nothing made real sense to him. Now she was seeing him in his element, now he was where he belonged. Now she was the one who didn't know how things worked. Skandar had been right when he'd said she didn't really know him. She was seeing another side to him now.

The weredragon had finished what he was doing and now he stumped over to her, carrying something under his arm, and flopped down beside her, dropping his burden on the ground next to him. He yawned and stretched. '_Aaaah_… ooh, that's better. My back hurts like you wouldn't believe.'

'I'm not surprised,' said Sif. 'That deer looks like it weighs more than you do.'

'Oh, well, I'm pretty strong,' said Skandar. He sat up. 'Would you like something to drink while we're waiting?'

Sif stared at the small barrel he'd brought over. 'Where in the world did you get that?'

'The cellar at Gil'ead, of course. I've got a cup we can share…'

She took it, still staring at him. 'What, you just went down there and helped yourself?'

'Of course. I thought you'd like it. Why, did I do something wrong?' He was giving her that wide-eyed look again.

Sif shrugged. 'I suppose not. What is it?'

Skandar had managed to remove the top. 'Smells like cider. Here, give me that.' He took the cup and filled it up, then took a quick mouthful from it. 'Yep, it's cider all right. Very good. Here, try some.'

Sif took the cup and drank, sighing happily as the warmth of it radiated through her body. The very best Gil'eadian pear cider, freshly brewed and wonderfully sweet. It was exactly what she needed.

They sat for a while by the fire, sharing the cider and resting.

'I can't believe you managed to get into the cellars on your own like that,' Sif said eventually.

'It wasn't hard,' said Skandar, pausing in the act of refilling the cup. 'I sniffed them out. I'm a hunter, after all. And it's much easier to hunt something that isn't moving.'

'Didn't someone try and stop you?'

'No. I can avoid being seen when I want to.' Skandar glanced over at the fire. 'Oh, I think the meat's ready.' He handed her the cup and went over to have a look. Sif was pleased to see him take the sticks out of the ground and bring them over.

'Here,' he offered her one. 'Careful, it's hot.'

She put down the cup and took it. The meat was slightly charred, but cooked and steaming, glistening with hot grease and giving off a wonderful smell. She pulled a piece off and tried it; it burnt her tongue a little, but it tasted better than anything she'd eaten before in her life.

Skandar watched her as she began to wolf down the rest of it, and grinned. 'Careful. You'll make yourself sick.'

Sif shook her head; her mouth was full. Skandar grinned again and started on his own helping.

The meat was gone all too quickly. Sif drank some more cider and groaned softly in delight. 'Gods, that was wonderful. I had no idea.'

Skandar swallowed the last of his food. 'Shall I cook some more for you?'

'Oh, yes please.'

He picked up the sticks and stepped around the fire to where the remains of the deer's leg still lay. 'See, this isn't so bad, is it?'

'Not at all,' said Sif, smiling a little tipsily. 'I love it.'

Skandar was busy sawing off more meat from the bone. 'You see,' he said, 'You showed me your world and now I'm showing you mine. This is my place. Anywhere where there's trees and soil and running water and deer to catch. And this is my feast for you to share. It tastes so much better after a long hard day in the air, doesn't it?'

Sif nodded. 'Yes. I was just thinking that myself. You're at home here, aren't you?'

'More than you know,' said Skandar. He glanced over at the deer's carcass. 'As for the rest of that, I think I'll give it to the King tomorrow. There's too much there for me to eat.'

'You could smoke it,' said Sif.

'No, smoking's a revolting habit,' said Skandar, and laughed.

Sif laughed too. 'Yes, that's what… wait, how do you know about that?'

'Is there any more of that cider left?' said Skandar, ignoring the question.

'What? Oh, yes. Here. Sorry, I think I've nearly finished this cup off.'

Skandar peered into the cask. 'It's all right, there's plenty in here.'

They drank some more while they waited for the meat to cook, and once it was done they ate it. Sif finished the second helping off just as quickly as the first, and Skandar was quite willing to prepare a third and fourth for both of them. By the time they were done Sif's stomach felt as if it were bulging with all the food in it. She lay back in the firelight, full and sleepy and utterly content. 'That was the best meal I've had in my life.'

Skandar refilled the cup with cider yet again. 'And you didn't even need any cutlery to eat it with.'

Sif giggled. 'I feel so wicked and uncivilised, eating with my fingers.'

'And keeping company with a weredragon can't be all that civilised either,' said Skandar, though he said it with a smile.

Sif watched him take a large mouthful of cider. 'You should go easy on that. Remember what happened last time.'

He lowered the cup. 'Oh. Yes. Here, you'd better take it off me.'

Sif put the cup aside. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you or anything…'

Skandar sighed. 'I really am sorry about what I did. I shouldn't have. Biting that man was a dragonish thing to do. That's why… when you… I mean, later that night, when we… uh… talked, and I said it was too soon.'

All of Sif's contentment vanished. 'Too soon for what?'

He glanced at her. To her surprise, she saw he was blushing. 'Too soon for… what you wanted.'

'I'm sorry,' said Sif. 'I know I shouldn't have done it. I'd drunk too much too, and…'

Skandar nodded. 'It's all right. It's just that… I kept thinking about it today while we were flying. Trying to understand why I said what I said. It's not that I don't like you, Sif. It's just that… it wasn't right.'

'What do you mean?' said Sif. 'Because you're not human?'

'Yes. It's like – remember the story I told you about the elf and the dragon? It's like that.'

'I don't care that you're not human,' said Sif. 'I really don't.'

'It's nice of you to say that, but I think you're saying it too soon,' said Skandar. 'Maybe you don't care now, but you will. It will take a long time for people to come to terms with what I am, and I think it'll be hardest for you. Trust me,' he added softly, 'I don't think I've fully accepted it myself yet.'

'I understand,' said Sif, who didn't. 'It must be hard for you.'

'You've no idea,' Skandar mumbled.

'Well I can understand why you're not… why you feel the way you do,' said Sif. 'If you're not ready, then I'll leave you alone. I'm sure… well, you know.' The cider made her add, 'I won't give up on you.'

Skandar did not reply. Sif looked over at him. The weredragon had curled up on his side, his head resting on his arm, and his breathing had deepened. He was asleep.


	9. The Shadowed Throne

**Chapter Nine**

**The Shadowed Throne**

Sif woke up cold and shivering.

She sat up, rubbing her arms and blinking in the pale light. It was dawn, and the forest was full of early-morning birdsong. Saphira was already awake. The blue dragon yawned widely. _'Good morning. Feeling better now?'_

'_Yes, and you?'_

'_A little sore, but I'll be fine.'_

Skandar was awake too. He was over by the remains of the fire, doing something to the deer carcass.

Sif went over to him. 'Good morning. What are you doing?'

'Getting it ready,' he said briefly, not looking at her.

Sif watched him. He was holding a handful of some kind of crushed plant and was rubbing it over the exposed meat where the leg had been removed. 'What's that?'

'Herbs. The meat's started to lose its flavour; these should help. I don't think the King would like eating old meat.'

Sif wrinkled her nose. The herbs had an unpleasant, acrid scent that stung her eyes.

Skandar tossed the handful of leaves aside. 'I'm done. Now I'm going to go to the mountain.'

'All right,' said Sif. 'Could I just-,'

'Well leave our things here,' Skandar interrupted. 'I've already hidden mine. Don't want anyone interfering with it. Actually, I suggest you put your own bag back onto Saphira's back if you're going to take it up to the castle with you later on today.'

'Shouldn't we have something to eat first?'

'We haven't got anything,' said Skandar. 'And I'd like to leave soon. Hurry up.'

Sif didn't have the energy to argue. She found her bag and dragged it over to Saphira, nearly tripping over the cider cask in the process.

Skandar watched her impatiently while she lifted it onto the dragon's back. He hadn't shaved off the hair that had sprouted on his face; it made him look ragged and a little wild, and far less friendly. The instant Sif had finished strapping the bag in place, he lifted the deer onto his shoulders with a lot less effort than his slim build would suggest and wordlessly set off into the trees.

Sif paused a moment to splash her face with water from the stream and then went after him at a near-run. Saphira groaned to herself and followed. Sif had done nothing but chase after this strange man since the previous morning, and by now the blue dragon was beginning to have grave doubts about the wisdom of it. Not that Skandar had done anything to cast doubt on his intentions, but he was exerting far too much influence over Sif and Saphira did not like it. He'd bitten the son of an extremely important and influencial noble and got away with it, he'd talked Sif into running away from her duties without even the pretence of an excuse, and he'd led both of them on a mad chase across half the country, which Sif had already forgiven him for without his having apologised very much at all. Saphira could feel her partner's emotions becoming confused, her mind entangled by what the blue dragon was quickly recognising as obsession.

However, there didn't seem to be anything much that could be done about it now except put up with it, so she growled to herself and shouldered aside some undergrowth.

In spite of his burden, Skandar reached the mountain well ahead of Sif and stopped to wait for her behind a clump of trees shielding him from the mountain just as Nasuada had done. He wasn't looking at her, though, but was instead peering through the undergrowth ahead toward the looming entrance to the King's cave.

Sif came to join him. 'Well, that's it,' she panted. 'He's in that cave.'

'I gathered that,' Skandar said tersely.

Sif suddenly felt embarrassed. 'Well, all right. Shall I go with you?'

'No. I'm going in there on my own.'

'Oh. Are you sure…?'

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'This is just between the King and myself.' He stopped suddenly and put the deer carcass down, before he came closer to her and clasped her hand in both of his. 'I just want to thank you, Sif. I know this can't have been easy for you, but I want you to know how much this all means to me. You've been a wonderful help to me. I could never have got this far without you, and I don't intend to forget that.'

Sif smiled. 'You're not easy to travel with, Skandar. But I'm glad I came. I would've regretted it if I hadn't.'

'Well, what happens after this will be all thanks to you,' said Skandar. 'I want you to know that. One day everyone will know that you were the one who brought the last weredragon to Ilirea and the throne of King Ravana. They'll say, "Sif, daughter of Eragon, was the one who found him and guided him to the King. It was because of her". They'll write about it in books. Trust me.'

'Me? In a book? Don't be silly.'

'Stranger things have happened. Now…' Skandar let go of her and picked up the deer again. 'Wish me luck. I don't know how long I'll be.'

'Good luck, Skandar,' said Sif. 'I'll be here waiting. Promise.'

He nodded and smiled, and then he was away, walking off through the trees, bent slightly double under the weight of the deer. Sif ventured forward a short distance; far enough to see him hesitate briefly in the entrance to the cave before he went in and was gone.

Saphira had crouched a short way behind her, still saddled. _'Well, there he goes,'_ the blue dragon observed. _'I hope it turns out to have been worth all the trouble.'_

Sif came back toward her and sat down by her leg. _'I hope he's all right… what if he says the wrong thing and makes the King angry?'_

'_I'm sure he's planned what he's going to say,'_ said Saphira. _'He's not stupid.'_

'_Yes, but he's a bit awkward,'_ said Sif, shifting uneasily. _'I've never seen him talk to anyone other than myself. He doesn't know anything much about ettiquette…'_

'Human_ ettiquette, Sif,'_ Saphira reminded her. _'The King isn't a human, remember? And maybe Skandar's odd by human standards but I expect he knows dragon ettiquette well enough.'_

'_True…'_

Sif sighed and sagged a little. _'What do you think about all this, Saphira? Did we do the right thing?'_

Saphira was silent for a while. _'I think we used our judgement as well as we could.'_

'_Yes, but did we use it as we should have?'_

The blue dragon raised and lowered her wings in a shrug. _'I think we did as well as we could have been expected to under the circumstances. Considering what those circumstances were, I doubt anyone would blame us much. The worst we'll get in trouble for is not writing back to Ilirea before we came, but Skandar's already promised to take the blame for that. I think we'll survive.'_

'_Are you sure?'_ Sif asked anxiously.

'_Well look, what's the worst they could do to us? They're not going to banish us, we haven't done anything anywhere near terrible enough for that. I think the worst they could do is declare us unfit to govern Gil'ead and relieve us of our duties, and the gods know _that_ would be a fate worse than death.'_

Sif perked up. _'You think so?'_

'_It's quite possible. I can "privately" suggest that to your mother, if you like.'_

'_That would be fantastic,' _said Sif. _'I-,'_

And then, without warning, the ground shook. There was a deafening _thump_ and the trees all about trembled almost imperceptively, their leaves rustling.

Sif leapt to her feet. 'What the hell was _that?'_ she exclaimed out loud.

There was deathly silence for a split second. Then came a sound that clapped itself over Sif's ears and struck directly into her head, a sound so loud that it was felt rather than heard. Sif screamed, but the sound was completely inaudible even to her. She dropped to her knees, hands over her ears, red lights flashing in front of her eyes.

The King was roaring.

Saphira cringed and backed away, bowing her head as the first roar was followed up by another. The ground shook again. Saphira panicked. She darted forward and wrapped her claws around Sif, intending to pull her away from the mountain, but in that instant there was a faint thud and something came hurtling out of the cave entrance and smacked into a tree-trunk before it came to rest among some bushes.

'What-,' Sif began.

But Saphira was more alert. She saw movement from the darkness just inside the cave and threw herself flat, hiding behind the trees as a massive black shape lumbered out into the open. Ravana stood in the clearing in front of his cave, ragged old wings slightly raised. He was breathing hard and his mouth was slightly open, exposing his yellowed fangs. The King was growling; not too loudly, but constantly, and dangerously.

Saphira watched him, cold all over with fear. He was looking straight at her. But then the giant dragon abruptly turned away. He tensed and made a rough but surprisingly agile leap, landing on the mountainside just above the cave. From there he made a short scrabbling run up the slope, wings opening, and launched himself into the air. Even though he was quite high up, the blast of air still made the upper branches of the trees shake. Then he was gone, flying higher and circling away over the forest and the lands around it, his distant roar still quite audible.

Saphira got up very cautiously, and carefully let go of Sif. _'Are… are you all right?'_

Sif was groaning as she rubbed her head. _'Oh gods… my head is agony. Saphira, what happened?'_

The blue dragon was peering at the cave entrance. _'I think the meeting didn't go so well.'_

Sif recovered herself and hurried forward. _'I saw something come out of there…'_

It was Skandar. They found him lying at the base of the tree where he'd landed, crumpled face-down with one arm flung out as if trying to grab something.

Sif was by him instantly. 'Oh _no!_ Skandar! _Skandar!'_

'_Calm down!' _Saphira shouted. _'Don't panic! Quick, check him for injuries!'_

Sif had been taught the basics of healing. She turned Skandar over onto his back as carefully as she could and checked his pulse. He was alive; she could hear him groaning softly. Working as quickly as she could, she felt him up and down for injuries. He had several broken ribs, and one leg was also broken. Other than that, he appeared to be fine.

Sif spread her hand over his chest. '_Waíse heill!_'

Healing broken bones was harder than she had realised. She kept the magic flowing until the spell was complete, and then ran her fingers over his ribcage. It was intact now, though there were a few hard nodules of bone left where the breaks had knitted back together. He was starting to regain consciousness now; she could see his eyelids twitching.

'It's all right,' she told him. 'It's all right, Skandar, I'm here. I'm healing you.'

He woke up while she was seeing to the broken leg; once she had finished the spell she looked at his face again and saw his eyes were now open and focused on her.

She touched his shoulder. 'Skandar, are you all right? How do you feel? Does it hurt anywhere else?'

That seemed to bring him back to his senses. He sat up abruptly and then got to his feet, dusting himself down.

Sif stood back. 'You should probably lie down-,'

'I'm fine.'

'Are you sure? Skandar, what happened? Why did the King-?'

'He wasn't happy to see me,' Skandar answered sharply and started to limp away.

Sif hurried after him. 'Why? What happened? What did you say to him?'

'That's none of your business, Sif.'

The sudden coldness in his voice took her by surprise. 'Skandar, what's wrong?'

He turned around to look at her, and all the friendly good humour had gone from his face. 'Just leave me alone,' he snapped, and limped off into the trees.

Sif ran after him. 'Skandar!'

He didn't reply. Even in spite of his limp he outpaced her, and suddenly she found herself standing in the midst of a grove of trees, utterly alone. He hadn't run or dodged. He was simply gone, as if he had never been, leaving no trace behind. She turned this way and that, trying to find him, but there was nothing.

'Skandar!'

The only sound was the faint rustle of the wind in the trees.

'_Sif?'_

Saphira came to join her, tail twitching with concern.

'_He's gone!'_ said Sif. _'He just… Saphira, can you smell him?'_

The dragon sniffed at the air. _'No… nothing.'_

'_What? Why can't you scent him out?'_

'_Sif, the wind is in the wrong direction,'_ Saphira said patiently. _'It's not my fault. Where did he go?'_

'_I don't know, he was there one moment and gone the next… Saphira, he shouted at me. Like I'd done something! I don't understand. What happened? Why did the King do that to him? Why wouldn't he just tell me? He looked at me like… like he hated me. I don't understand.'_

'_He's just upset,'_ said Saphira. _'You should go easy on him. He said he'd been dreaming of meeting the King for years, and if that's what happened…'_

But Sif didn't feel comforted at all.

'_Come on,'_ Saphira said eventually. _'There's nothing more we can do here. We've done what we could to help Skandar, and now it's time for us to join our fellow riders. Someone at Gil'ead has probably already written to Ilirea to say we've run off, and they'll be worried about us.'_

Sif nodded vaguely. _'Yes. I suppose so.'_

'_Get on my back, then.'_

Almost as soon as Saphira had taken off, Sif was suddenly overcome by weariness. It was all over; Skandar had met the King and now he didn't need her any more, and all she could think of now was sleep and food, proper food eaten indoors, and her mother's face and voice, and Murtagh's. She couldn't think about Skandar now. All she could think of was home.

Sif didn't really know what kind of welcome she had been expecting, but the one she got was far less spectacular than she had thought. Thorn and Silarae were dozing together on the dragon roost, and didn't wake up when Saphira landed by them. Sif got off her back and removed her saddle and the luggage, all the while expecting someone to come rushing out to meet her, but no-one did. Feeling oddly guilty, as if she were breaking in, she went down through the trapdoor and into the castle. There were a few servants up and about, all of whom looked surprised to see her, but none of them made much fuss. Sif finally asked one where her mother was, and was told that she could find her in her study.

'Right,' she said, dumping her bag on the floor. 'I'm going to go and see her. You take this to my old room and unpack it.'

The servant bowed and hurried off, and Sif made straight for the study, heart fluttering.

The door was ajar. She could see Nasuada beyond, sitting at the desk and calmly writing something, unaware that her daughter was standing in the doorway.

Finally, Sif coughed. 'Um…?'

Nasuada looked up. 'Yes? Wh- _Sif?_'

Sif clasped her hands together. 'I… uh… hello, Mother.'

Her mother ran to her. 'Sif! What in the world are you doing here? What's happened to you? Is everything all right?'

'I'm fine,' said Sif. 'Just tired. Mother, I'm sorry I didn't write first, but…'

'Come on,' said Nasuada. 'You look exhausted. Let's get out of here and get you cleaned up, and then we can have something to eat.'

Sif went without protest, almost giddy with relief. The stress of the last couple of days, held back for too long, was now taking its toll. Her mind felt as if it were full of grey fog.

She let Nasuada take her back to her old room, where her belongings had been unpacked, and once she had drowsily submitted to a bath and a change of clothes she went with her to the dining hall. There they were served hot soup, rich with chicken and lumps of potato, toasted bread and some light ale.

Nasuada waited until Sif had taken the edge of her hunger before she spoke.

'So,' she said, putting down her mug. 'Tell me everything.'

Sif did. She briefly described the journey to Gil'ead and her reception there, and then the encounter with the wounded dragon that had led to her first meeting with Skandar, though she left out his resemblance to Galbatorix. Nasuada listened seriously, and didn't interrupt until this point.

'What? A _weredragon?'_

Sif nodded. 'He'd never been in a city before; he didn't even know what a door was. He told me he wanted to go to the King and swear loyalty to him, and…'

Nasuada listened some more. 'What was his name?' she asked eventually.

'Oh. Skandar.'

Nasuada frowned. 'Skandar…?'

'What?' said Sif.

'Hm? Oh, nothing. Just… no, it's nothing. Carry on.'

So Sif talked of the dance, and of her talk with Skandar, skipping over the bungled kiss and moving on to the moment when he had asked her to go with him to Ilirea.

'-And I said I would, because… because I liked him a lot and I didn't want to let him go on his own.'

'Well you did the right thing,' said Nasuada. 'If Skandar is the last weredragon, and if he was intending to come here and swear himself to the King, then he is an ambassador and Alagaësian law commands us to show ambassadors every courtesy. But why didn't you write to me about this?'

'I wanted to,' said Sif. 'And I was _going_ to, but the next day Saphira woke me up and it turned out he was already up on the roost and ready to leave. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. He said he was leaving that morning and that if I wanted to come too I had to hurry.'

'That was very rude of him. Didn't you explain?'

'Yes, but it didn't work. I just gave up and left with him.' Sif hung her head. 'I know I shouldn't have. There were all sorts of things I should have done first, but he just didn't give me the time… I must be in terrible trouble now.'

Nasuada laughed. 'Trouble? I doubt it. Calm down, Sif.'

'Well I know _you're_ not angry with me,' said Sif. 'But the King…'

'The King doesn't need to know about it. And if he did he probably wouldn't care. You're a rider, Sif. It's not extremely moral, but we can afford to be rude and to rush off when the mood takes us. The reason why the nobles exist is to work around us as well as with us. Maybe they don't like it, but they wouldn't dare complain. No, you did what seemed best to you at the time and you can't really be blamed for that. If anyone was in the wrong, it was Skandar. Where is he? I'd love to meet him.'

Sif sighed. 'I was getting to that…'

Nasuada listened while she described their stay in the forest and the results of the weredragon's meeting with the King, and that was when she finally showed alarm.

'What did he do?'

'I don't know,' said Sif. 'He wouldn't tell me. But he made the King angry somehow, and after I'd healed him he wouldn't speak to me. He snapped at me and then disappeared off into the forest somewhere, and then Saphira said we should probably just come here because you'd be worried.'

'I wasn't,' said Nasuada. 'Nobody at Gil'ead has written to me, or if they have it hasn't arrived yet. I didn't know you'd left.' She sipped thoughtfully at her ale. 'Well, one thing's plain; we're going to have to go to the King's forest and see if we can find this Skandar. There are a lot of things I'd like to ask him.'

'Like what?' Sif asked nervously.

'I don't doubt his story,' said Nasuada. 'I trust your judgement, Sif. But I want to know about the weredragons, and I particularly want to know just what happened between him and the King. As the King's chief agent, it's my business to know about these things.'

Sif tried to imagine Skandar in the castle, meeting her friends and family. It was a very strange mental image. 'What should I do?' she asked. 'I don't have to go back to Gil'ead right now, do I?'

'No, no. You should stay here for a while; at least until this business is sorted out. If this Skandar has attached himself to you, then he'll probably be easier to deal with if you're here. Anyway, you're obviously tired, and Saphira must be as well. You go up to your room now and get some rest. I'll take Murtagh and go and search the forest. We'll tell you straight away when we find him.'

Sif nodded. 'All right. _Should I?'_ she added privately, to Saphira.

'_Yes,'_ the blue dragon answered immediately. _'You need sleep, and you've done enough for that weredragon. Maybe too much. If you don't get an apology next time you meet him, demand one.'_

Skandar's wide, innocent eyes flitted across her vision for a moment. _'I will.'_

Part of her still wanted to go with her mother to join in the search, but her tiredness spoke stronger. She finished her food, said a quick see-you-later to her mother, and shuffled off in the direction of her room.

Her bed looked more welcoming than it had ever done before. Sif found a nightdress in the cupboard and put it on before she slid into the sheets. The familiar scent and feel of them enveloped her immediately, and she sighed. All her anxiety was gone now. She was home, and her mother was going to deal with everything. She was all right now…

Then she slept.

Sif dreamed of the crypts. She was running through its endless corridors, clutching the broken flowers to her chest. Saphira was running beside her, somehow able to fit underground. The two of them were looking for her father's tomb.

Sif saw a carving loom up out of the darkness and ran toward it with a shout of triumph. But then she realised that something was wrong. The carving was only half-there. The other half was a gaping black hole, and above that was the face of the boy called Arren Cardockson, the one who had grown up. That innocent young face was one she had seen once, long ago, and it had been old, beared and lined, cold-eyed and bitter, that face that had taken her father's life.

Sif tried to back away from it. _We're not there,_ she said. _He's not buried. Saphira, can you help me?_

She turned to look at the dragon beside her, and found herself staring into a pair of glittering black eyes.

_Skandar!_

The weredragon grinned at her. _I shall fight her for you,_ he said. _I promise._

Sif reached out for him. _Skandar, I'm frightened. Please, help me._

He embraced her. _When shadows fall and blood is shed, only he who is one with the dark may survive,_ he whispered, and then he was kissing her.

Then he let her go, and turned away to look at the darkness within the tomb.

Sif clutched at his arm. _Don't go in there. Don't…_

Skandar said nothing. He stepped forward, toward the darkness. Sif tried to hold him back, but he slipped through her fingers and away into the depths of the tomb, swallowed up by the blackness forever. Sif called his name and could hear him calling back, but she did not dare follow him. He was gone. Only his voice remained, calling her name.

_Sif… Sif…_

'_Sif!'_

'Sif! Wake up!'

Sif sat up sharply. 'Huh? What? What's going on?'

It was her mother. 'Sif, get up, now.'

Sif's confusion turned to fear when she saw Nasuada's face. She started to struggle out of bed. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'Get dressed.'

Sif found a clean dress and started to put it on. 'How long was I asleep?'

'Most of the day. Sif…' Nasuada was pale. 'Sif, something bad has happened.'

Sif froze. 'What is it? Is it Skandar? Did you find him?'

'No. Murtagh and I searched the forest for hours. We didn't find a trace of anyone anywhere. Sif… it's the King. Something's happened to him.'

'What's happened?' said Sif. 'Is he sick or something?'

'We found him,' said Nasuada. 'By the mountain. I… Sif, you must promise to keep this a secret. No-one can know except us until the time is right.'

'I promise.'

'The King is dead,' said Nasuada.


	10. Endless Dark

**Chapter Ten**

**Endless Dark**

Sif and Saphira stood side-by-side in the clearing in front of the mountain, neither one speaking. Murtagh and Nasuada were also there, with their dragons, and the six of them stood grouped together, staring at the mortal remains of King Ravana, Lord of Alagaësia.

The massive black dragon lay on his side, one wing crumpled beneath him and the other draped over his flank. His legs were splayed, as if he had tried to run in his last moments, and his jaws were open in a tired snarl.

'He was dead when we got here,' Nasuada said quietly. 'Thorn saw him first.'

'I've already written to Carnoc and Jarsha,' said Murtagh. 'Carnoc's had contact from Skirnir and Lifrasir; I've told him to alert the other royal dragons and tell them to come here at once. They'll want to know about this.'

Sif timidly tried to find the King's mind with her own, but there was nothing there. His body was empty, his mind vacant. 'I don't understand,' she said in a small voice. 'I saw him this morning. He was fine. How could this have happened?'

'He was very old, Sif,' said Murtagh. 'Older than the riders themselves. No-one can live forever.'

'What are we going to do?' said Nasuada.

Murtagh started to pace up and down beside the corpse. 'The first thing we have to do… the _first_ thing is decide what to do with the body. Obviously we can't bury it… it's too big to burn, even if all the dragons tried at once…'

'But we can't just leave him lying here,' said Nasuada. 'If someone sees him…'

'Yes. We have to move him into the cave,' said Murtagh. 'And maybe… well, we could fill in the entrance. Turn it into a tomb for him.'

'That would be a good idea,' said Nasuada. 'After all-,'

'_It would be an excellent idea,'_ Thorn interrupted. _'A dragon should be allowed to rest in a wild place. Natural. The kind of place where he lived. But a King deserves a tomb.'_

'_Exactly,'_ said Silarae. _'But we can't do it now. We have to wait until his family gets here. They will want to see him.'_

Nasuada nodded. 'Yes. Of course. Even if dragons don't have burial ceremonies, they should all be here to see the tomb sealed. And after that…' she took a deep breath. 'After that… we can start deciding what to do next.'

Sif was still looking at the body. 'How do you think he died?'

Murtagh shook his head. 'My guess would be that his heart just gave out.'

'I doubt it,' said Nasuada. 'I've been reading the works of Vander Zynthad – you know, the old rider who used to rule Feinster. He says that happens with humans, but not dragons. Something to do with how their systems work… I can't remember exactly what it said.'

Thorn had been listening. Now the red dragon moved a little closer to the body, examining it closely. They had all been keeping a respectful distance from it up until now, but Thorn brought his snout close to the King's, scenting at it. He snorted and backed away.

'_What is it, Thorn?'_ said Murtagh.

Thorn sat back on his haunches, his tail twitching. _'I don't like this. It smells wrong.'_

'_What does?'_

'_Look at the King's mouth,'_ said Thorn. _'Can you see it?'_

Sif ventured closer, and quickly saw what he was talking about. Red foam was clinging to Ravana's teeth and gums and had dripped onto the ground beneath his head.

'_What does it mean, though?'_ she asked.

Saphira, who had arched her neck over to look, sniffed cautiously at the muck and then jerked away, shuddering. _'Oh!'_

'_What is it?' _said Sif.

Silarae too had come to scent it, and she too reacted with disgust and alarm. Thorn cast significant glances at his fellow dragons while the three humans looked on, confused.

Finally, Thorn nodded his agreement to something that had passed between himself and his friends.

Murtagh touched his partner's leg. _'Thorn? What can you smell?'_

The red dragon looked down at him. _'There is something wrong,'_ he said, projecting the words to everyone there. _'A smell around his mouth. It's not natural.'_

'_Yes, but what kind of scent?'_ said Murtagh.

Thorn raised his wings briefly. _'An unpleasant one. Murtagh… we think… this is far too sudden. Over a thousand years old and never sick a day in his life, yet he dies like this? No warnings? No weakening? No illness? No… I don't accept this. Not at all.'_

'_What do you think, then?'_ said Murtagh. _'You think this wasn't an accident?'_

Thorn turned abruptly to look at Sif. _'This friend of yours. The weredragon. Do you know where he is?'_

'_No,'_ said Sif.

'_Did you see him go into the King's cave?'_

'_Yes, and I saw him come out.'_

The red dragon made a sudden movement toward her, making her jerk backward a little in fright. _'Did he take anything in with him?'_ he asked urgently. _'Some kind of food?'_

'_Yes, but it was just a dead deer.'_

'_That was all? There was nothing in it or on it that looked suspicious?'_

Sif hesitated.

'_Well?'_

'_No-,'_

'_Yes,'_ Saphira interrupted. _'Yes, there was. He rubbed some herbs into it. He said it was for the flavour, to make it taste better.'_

Thorn had started to growl. _'I think we should find this Skandar and ask him some questions.'_

'_He didn't poison the King!'_ Sif exclaimed. _'He wouldn't!'_

'_We'll leave it to him to prove that,'_ said Thorn, turning away.

Murtagh and Nasuada were both looking grim.

'Thorn's right,' said Nasuada. 'We have to find him, and bring him back to the castle for questioning.'

'He didn't do it!' said Sif. 'He hasn't done anything wrong!'

'That's enough, Sif.'

'_Why did you do that?'_ Sif demanded privately, to Saphira.

'_Why should we protect him?'_ said the blue dragon. _'We don't _know_ him, Sif.'_

'_Well I do,'_ Sif said stubbornly. _'He's not a killer.'_

Nasuada had been watching. 'Look,' she said more gently. 'If your friend hasn't done anything then he's got nothing to fear. We're not going to accuse him of anything. All we want to do is ask some questions and learn more about him. And anyway, as an ambassador he deserves our hospitality.'

Sif nodded, though she didn't feel particularly comforted. 'I'll help you find him,' she said. 'And he can _tell_ you he didn't do it himself. You'll like him, Mother. You really will.'

Murtagh and Nasuada worked together to cast a preservation spell over Ravana's body, and after that the three dragons all tried to move it into the cave. But they did not have the strength, even collectively, to move it even a short distance. After they had conceded defeat, it was decided that one dragon would be stationed on top of the mountain as a lookout. He or she would guard the King's body and make sure that no-one ventured near the forest. Silarae offered to be first. In the meantime, the others went in search of Skandar.

Sif, Murtagh and Nasuada spread out through the forest, looking for any sign of his presence while Saphira and Thorn flew overhead, scanning the ground with the expertise of born hunters. The forest was very large; it covered an area that had once hosted a dozen farms, and the creation of the mountain had left lines of rocky outcrops that spread out from its roots and were home to countless hiding places. Sif made as thorough a search of these as she could, but found nothing.

In the end, nightfall forced Nasuada to call a halt; sending a mental signal to Silarae, who immediately alerted her fellow dragons. The search party met up at the edge of the forest and shared their news. None of them had found any trace of Skandar.

'But we'll try again tomorrow,' Nasuada concluded.

They did not find him the next day, or the day after that either. The closest they came was when Murtagh, following the stream, found a damp patch on the bank where there were a few footprints and a scatter of black bristles.

'Looks like he was here,' he said, once the others had come to see for themselves. 'Not too long ago.' He picked up a couple of the hairs and examined them. 'Looks like he had a shave.'

It looked like a positive lead, and they followed the stream for some distance in the hopes of finding more, but the trail went cold almost immediately. The only other thing they found was a row of scratch-marks on a tree, at about head-height. When Sif touched them, she found they matched her fingers. 'He did this,' she said confidently. 'With his claws.'

Murtagh touched the marks. 'I really hope I can meet this Skandar myself. He sounds fascinating.'

'He is,' said Sif. 'And he's sweet, too.' She smiled. 'He's so fierce, but he's like a child. And he's so honest, too. I don't think he's ever told a lie in his whole life, or even knows how to.'

Murtagh frowned. 'Yes. And yet… I don't know…'

'What?'

'It's just that… it's his name. Skandar. Skandar… I keep having an odd feeling when I hear it. Like I've heard it somewhere before. I…' Murtagh broke off. 'No. Never mind, I'm sure it's nothing. Let's get a move on. If he's in the area, we might catch him.'

But that was all they found that day, and they found nothing at all the day after that. It took four days to search every inch of the forest, and by the end of it they were all tired and frustrated, and Sif was upset.

'There's only one thing I can be certain of,' Murtagh said that evening. 'Either he's left the forest, or he's deliberately avoiding us.'

'But why would he do something like that?' said Nasuada.

'Why, indeed,' Murtagh said darkly.

'I'm sure he doesn't mean any harm,' said Sif. 'He said he wanted to meet you, but he was nervous about it too. I don't think he trusts you completely.'

'Why?'

'Well…' Sif stared at the tabletop in front of her. 'Riders wiped out his race. It's our fault he's the last one left. He said he didn't blame me, but maybe he's afraid that you might be like the riders who killed his people.'

Nasuada sighed. 'Yes… I can understand that. I hope that he does come out of hiding soon. When I meet him, I should… we should all apologise to him. On behalf of our predecessors. In the meantime…'

In the meantime, there were more important things to see to. Carnoc arrived the next morning, and Jarsha the day after that. Close on their heels came others. Not riders. They were dragons; wild dragons. But not just any dragons.

There were too many of them to land on the dragon roost, and many of them were too large for it anyway. They landed instead on the land at the edge of the King's forest, one by one, greeting their bonded cousins with growls and nuzzling. Sif knew them all by name. There was Lifrasir, a massive dark-blue female. Skirnir, her silver-scaled brother, and Katana and Balisong, both black females. They were the elders. The others were much younger. One-eyed Valdyr and red-winged Dreyri – two of the surviving offspring of Skirnir and Eragon's dragon, the older Saphira. All of them were direct descendants of Ravana, and most bore his black scales.

Nasuada broke the news to them, and the six dragons bowed their heads in silence.

'_Skömm is dead too,'_ Skirnir said at last. _'Killed in a mating fight last winter.'_

'What about Kullervo?' said Nasuada.

The silver dragon shook his head. _'There's been no word of him since he disappeared. I think he's probably dead too. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that he killed himself.'_

There was grim silence from everyone there. Kullervo, the only surviving son of Ravana and one-time leader of the wild dragons, had been trapped in the form of a human by the Shades who had ruled Alagaësia for ten years during Galbatorix's absence. Since then he had not been seen or heard from.

'_I want to see the body,'_ Lifrasir interrupted.

'Of course,' said Nasuada. 'We preserved it with magic so you could see it.'

Sif rode on Saphira's back to the mountain, and the two of them stood by while the dragons grouped respectfully around the mortal remains of the dragon who had been patriarch of their clan. None of them moved much, and all remained fairly expressionless as dragons generally did. Still, Sif knew that didn't mean they felt nothing. Most of the time dragons kept their emotions on the inside.

Skirnir nosed gently at his grandfather's cold snout. Beside him, Lifrasir pressed herself against her brother and sighed; the only sign she gave.

Finally, Skirnir turned to look at the five riders. _'How did he die?'_

The riders exchanged glances.

'_I think he was poisoned,'_ said Thorn. _'The others agree with me.'_

The dragons started, several of them growling.

'_What?'_ said Lifrasir. _'By who?'_

'_We don't know. Scent his jaws; tell me what you can detect.'_

The blue dragon obeyed. _'I can't smell anything.'_

'_It must have faded by now,'_ said Thorn. _'But I can assure you that it was there before. Silarae and Saphira picked it up as well.'_

'_What kind of scent was it?'_

'_Unpleasant. Not one I recognised, but it smelt sharp… acidic. Like some kind of herb. And there was foam around his jaws. It had blood in it.'_

Skirnir growled. _'But who could have done it? He wouldn't have allowed anyone except you and your friends into his cave, and even if he did he wouldn't eat anything given to him by a stranger.'_

'_We don't know,'_ said Thorn. _'But there was someone who visited him on the morning he died. A weredragon.'_

'_A weredragon? What in the gods' names is that?'_

Thorn shrugged his wings. _'An elf who can change into a dragon at will. Saphira brought him here, but he disappeared. She and Sif were the only ones who saw him.'_

Skirnir's eyes narrowed. _'An elf… elves have always been enemies to the Night Dragon. Do you know where he is?'_

'_No. We believed he was somewhere in the forest, but we could not find him. We searched for days.'_

'_We will help you search again,'_ said Skirnir, glancing at his fellows. _'If he is responsible, we will make him suffer for it.'_

'_I am sure we will find him,'_ said Thorn. _'But for now…'_

'_Yes,'_ said Skirnir. _'For now, there are other things to do.'_

Nasuada came forward. _'Murtagh and I have talked it over,'_ she said. _'We decided-,'_

Everyone there tensed.

'_-We have decided that we – all of us here – should hold a council,'_ said Nasuada, choosing her words carefully. _'We shall decide what must be done collectively.'_

Skirnir appeared to relax. _'Yes. It is our duty to make sure that King Ravana's legacy is the best one for the country.'_

'_We thought the meeting should take place as soon as possible,'_ Murtagh added. _'After we have all had time to think things over. But our first course of action must be to pay our respects to the King.'_

'_Agreed,'_ said Skirnir.

'_We had thought that we could move his body back into the cave,'_ said Nasuada. _'And then cover over the entrance. It would be a good tomb for him.'_

There was silence while the dragons thought it over.

'_I think that would be good,'_ said Lifrasir. _'The dragon's way would be to leave him where he was so that the earth could take him back, but…'_

'_He was a King,'_ said Thorn. _'And a King should have a tomb.'_

'_I agree.'_

'_Shall we do it now, then?'_ said Thorn. _'All of us together should be enough.'_

Skirnir and Lifrasir gave their assent, and the humans stood back while the dragons braced themselves against Ravana's back and, in a concerted effort, laboriously pushed him into the cave. He went slowly, head and limbs dragging limply, and once he was in Skirnir and Lifrasir turned him onto his belly, carefully arranging his wings and legs so that he looked natural, as if he were sleeping.

Once it was done they returned to the space outside the entrance, where the others were standing together in a loose group with the humans at the front. There was an air of awkwardness around them all, and no-one seemed to know what to say.

'_Shouldn't we bring some flowers?'_ Sif ventured.

'_Not for a dragon,'_ said Skirnir. He kept his gaze on the cave entrance. Ravana's snout protruded into the open air, his head and horns a silhouette in the gloom beyond. He sighed. _'Dragons have no rituals,'_ he said, addressing everyone, _'No ceremonies or special words for the dead. All we can do for him now is seal the cave.'_

'_Then do what seems right,'_ said Nasuada. _'It isn't for us to interfere.'_

Nothing more was said. The dragons climbed to the top of the mountain, just over the cave entrance, and, working together, they tore out great chunks of stone and sent them tumbling down the slope. Others stayed below and helped to push them into place in the cave entrance, and together they covered it up, piling broken stone as high as they could, until much of the mountaintop had been demolished and the entrance had vanished behind a massive heap of rubble.

When it was done, the dragons on the ground flew up to the mountaintop and perched there, arranging themselves into a circle as if on some unspoken agreement. Then Skirnir lifted his head to the sky, and roared. Lifrasir did likewise, and her sisters, and in moments every dragon had raised his or her snout and was bellowing. On the ground, Sif resisted the urge to cover her ears, feeling that it would be disrespectful. But she did wince at the noise. It was so loud…

But not discordant, she realised. Their voices were far from sounding human, or musical, but there was a kind of harmony in them. And, as she stood and listened more closely, she saw what it was that they were doing.

'They're calling,' she whispered to herself.

It went on for a long time. When it was done, Saphira came back down to join her rider.

'_Come on,'_ she said calmly. _'We're going back to the castle now.'_

Sif didn't argue. She and her fellow riders mounted up and flew back to Ilirea, leaving Skirnir and his siblings and offspring behind. When they had landed on the roost, Sif looked enquiringly at her mother, who didn't seem inclined to tell her what was going on as she loosened the straps holding Silarae's saddle on.

Jarsha and Carnoc removed the tack from their own partners and retreated into the castle without a word. Murtagh too was silent. Finally, Sif appealed to Saphira.

'_What's going on?'_

The blue dragon stirred. _'Skirnir and Lifrasir both requested two days to talk things over before the meeting. Murtagh and your mother agreed.'_

Sif had finished removing her saddle, and started to roll it up. _'Oh. I see.'_

Nasuada was waiting for her. 'Come on,' she said. 'We're going to go and have some lunch now.'

Sif sighed and followed her.

Lunch was a subdued affair. The five riders sat in the dining hall and ate a simple meal of bread and cheese. Sif didn't feel particularly hungry. She couldn't stop thinking about Skandar, and worrying about him. She kept thinking of the last time she had seen him; how he had limped on his newly-healed leg, wincing every time it touched the ground. And of his anger. He had been upset about something, but what? What had he said or done to make Ravana attack him? Had he…?

Sif's stomach churned. Had he really poisoned the King?

She tore a chunk of bread in half, almost angry with herself for thinking it. No. She made herself think of Skandar's light, cheerful voice and bright eyes. He wouldn't do something like that. She knew he wouldn't. He was her Skandar, not a killer, and she wished he was there. She had only been apart from him for a day or so, but she already missed him.

As she chewed listlessly, she slowly became aware that Murtagh was speaking. She swallowed and looked up.

'…will have to be very careful about suggesting it,' her stepfather was saying. 'We don't know what they want.'

'Well they won't want that,' Nasuada interrupted. 'I promise you.'

'Then why suggest it at all?' said Carnoc. 'If they're certain to disagree, I don't see why it would be worth it.'

'We have to,' Nasuada snapped. 'We aren't their servants, even if they _are_ the King's blood. We're riders. _We_ represent the union between human and dragon, not them. We are the heirs to Vrael. What do the Shur'tugal exist for except to rule? And besides, why should they even care? Humans should be ruled by other humans.'

'And what about the dragons?' said Carnoc.

'What about them?'

'Humans will accept being ruled by us, there's no question of that, but what about the dragons? If they don't accept it…'

'Wild dragons have never taken much interest in human affairs,' said Murtagh. 'Even during the Fall they did virtually nothing to intervene. They refused to take either side and then went into hiding rather than risk being destroyed.'

'That was more than a century ago,' said Nasuada. 'Things have changed. They looked on Ravana as their leader. His death means that both humans and dragons are leaderless, and what will the dragons do now?'

'Well, they'll accept anyone who can fight his way to the top,' said Murtagh. 'That's how they've always chosen their leaders. And they won't accept a human leader. Besides, what human could fight his way to supremacy over the dragons? It would be suicide.'

Nasuada traced circles on the tabletop with her finger. 'Yes… and if we make the King's family angry with us, we risk breaking the peace between dragon and human.'

'Not necessarily,' said Murtagh. 'Remember, dragons don't care about bloodlines or hierarchies. Being related to the King didn't save Skömm, did it? Skirnir's family were only powerful because of the King. Without him, they have no status. They're in as much jeopardy as we are. Most likely more.'

Nasuada brightened up. 'Well, that could be a good thing from our point of view. If… well, look, it's in our interest to be strongly allied with them, and it's in theirs to be strongly allied with us. So I'm sure they'll be open to… reasonable discussion.'

'But they won't like this idea,' said Carnoc. 'If you suggest it to them, they'll see it as a grab for power on our part.'

'Oh?' said Nasuada, suddenly angry. 'And what they're no doubt planning to propose won't be?'

'I'm not saying that,' Carnoc said carefully. 'All I'm saying is that we should be… careful.'

'And we will,' said Nasuada. 'I intend to be very careful indeed.'

'The dragons _will_ want another King, though,' said Jarsha. 'Most likely one of them.'

'But I doubt it could work,' said Murtagh. 'Ravana's power was directly handed to him by his predecessor, in the sight of both humans and dragons. And he was not an ordinary dragon. For something like that to happen again would take circumstances that are unlikely to arise again.' He glanced at Nasuada. 'You're really sure he never named an heir?'

She nodded. 'He never mentioned it to me, and I never would have had the courage to ask. You know he didn't like to be questioned.'

'Of course.' Murtagh looked at the others. 'Did he ever hint anything to any of you?'

They shook their heads.

'I think he probably would have chosen Lord Kullervo,' Jarsha volunteered. 'After all… he was his son.'

Murtagh sighed. 'Yes, if Lord Kullervo were still alive he would be the most logical choice. But six years is a long time, and now he's been declared dead… well, somehow I doubt he's likely to come back very soon. And even if he does, if he's still trapped in human form… no, we can't rely on that.'

'Of course not,' said Nasuada. 'As it is… I suggest we use our time before the meeting to talk things over and come up with the best approach to take.'

'Mother, be careful,' Sif said suddenly.

Nasuada looked up. 'I will, Sif.'

Sif didn't quite know what had made her speak, but now she leaned toward her mother, suddenly full of urgency. 'Please do,' she said. 'Don't do anything to make them angry. I don't want us to end up in a war.'

Nasuada patted her hand. 'Don't worry, Sif. It's not going to come to that, I promise. We've seen enough of war, and we're not looking for more.'

Sif sat back, feeling a strange sick churning in her stomach. 'You shouldn't ask what you're going to ask,' she said. 'If you tell them you think the riders should rule without a King leading them, they'll be angry. Can't you just do what they want?'

'Because we have our pride, Sif,' said Nasuada. 'We aren't their servants.' She stared at Murtagh. 'And Alagaësia has had enough of Kings.'


	11. Pretending

**Chapter Eleven**

**Pretending**

The next two days were miserable for Sif.

Part of her had been glad to be back in Ilirea. She had missed it more than she had realised, and she had no desire to go back to Gil'ead. But even though she was home, she did not feel as happy about it as she had thought she would, and during those two days leading up to the meeting she felt far more alone than she had ever been at Gil'ead.

Her fellow riders had no time for her. They spent all their time locked away in the dining hall or in their private chambers, planning, thinking, and talking, always talking. Every mealtime was a debate. Even cheerful Jarsha was caught up in it, and nobody seemed to have time for anything else.

Sif did her best, at first, to be involved. She sat in on several meetings and listened to her four fellow riders argue back and forth. Nasuada was pushing for them to propose that the riders continue to rule the country without subordinating themselves to a monarch. Jarsha had taken her side, and Carnoc was wavering on the edge of it, but Murtagh was still doubtful. He and Nasuada argued fiercely, and Sif didn't know what side to take. She wanted to say something, anything, but she couldn't find the words, and when she did no-one really seemed to be listening. She didn't know what she thought. All she knew was that she was frightened and depressed. After that, filled full of a terrible sense of helplessness, she excused herself from the debates and spent most of her time with Saphira, or looking after little Eragon, who was fretting without his mother.

That was how she passed most of the second day, too, while the meeting that would decide the future of the country drew inexorably closer and closer, and all the while she was tormented by a terrible sense of foreboding, one which grew stronger all the time.

She barely spoke to anyone that day, and when she finally did see her mother again, at dinnertime, she picked at her food and avoided eye-contact with anyone. No-one else at the table was speaking much either. The talking was over. They had made their decision.

'Are you ready for tomorrow?' Nasuada asked, obviously aware of her daughter's unhappiness.

'I suppose so,' Sif mumbled.

'It'll be all right,' said Nasuada. 'I promise it will. Just make sure you look your best and don't lose your head, and we can all…' she paused, looking for a way to finish the sentence. '…do our best,' she said at last, rather lamely.

'Yes, Mother.'

Nasuada looked slightly worried, but said; 'Well, I trust you. Are you done eating?'

Sif nodded.

'Good, well you'd better be off to bed, then. Oh, and by the way, next time you want to find something in my study, just ask, all right?'

Sif looked up. 'What?'

'You heard me,' said Nasuada. 'Those old papers haven't been sorted out yet, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere with them.'

Sif's brow wrinkled. 'What? I haven't been into your study.'

'Well someone has,' said Nasuada, casting a quick glance around the table. 'I assumed it was you. Murtagh said he thought he saw you near the door this morning.'

Sif shook her head. 'I haven't been in your study since the day you got back.'

Nasuada frowned. 'Oh. Maybe it was one of the servants, then. It's odd, I was sure I had the door locked… well, it doesn't matter, there wasn't anything important in there. Now, off you go and get some sleep. I'll see you in the morning.'

Sif shuffled out of the dining hall without any argument. There was a cold, sick feeling in her stomach that had been there for most of that day, and the day before as well. She knew it would be there the next day as well, and would stay with her until the meeting took place at noon… and after then… there was no telling what would happen then.

She returned to her room in a sort of trance, and when she undressed for bed she tossed her gown into the corner rather than take the time to put it away properly. She couldn't summon up the energy to get into bed, and lay on top of the blankets instead. She was very tired, but there was so much anxiety rushing through her system that she couldn't sleep. But she couldn't bring herself to get up either, so she just lay there for hours, as the candle burned down and the moon rose outside. Saphira was still awake, too, not speaking, but Sif could feel that she was just as worried and unhappy as she was. Neither of them was in the mood for talking.

The candle, now a tiny stub, finally flickered and went out. The only illumination now came from the fire still burning in the grate.

Sif lay and stared at the dark ceiling for a long time before she finally found the willpower to make herself get up. She slid off the bed and padded over to the fireplace. The hearthrug was warm. She knelt on it, feeling its comforting roughness against the bare skin on her knees. For some reason it made her feel better. She lay down on her side, facing the fire, and curled up, staring at the pulsating orange glow of a charcoal-encrusted pine log. The sight of fire made her think of Skandar. He'd slept like this, back in Gil'ead, curled up on the hearthrug by the fire, like a dog. Or a dragon.

Sif sighed miserably. 'Please come back,' she whispered. 'Please come back, Skandar.'

She woke up feeling cold and stiff, and rolled over onto her back. It was morning, and pale sunlight was streaming in through the window. She sat up, suddenly embarrassed. She hadn't meant to fall asleep in front of the fire like that, and what had felt so right – almost magical – then now felt ridiculous. The hearthrug was no longer warm, but cold and scratchy on her skin, and the floor beneath was hard. She felt like an idiot.

The recollection of what was due to happen that day returned with unpleasant speed, and quickly made her forget everything else. She got up and started to search through her gowns for the best one she owned, suddenly burning with tension. This was nothing like it had been the day before. When she glanced out the window, she saw that the morning was well advanced. The meeting was mere hours away. The instant she realised that, the sick feeling in her stomach, which had returned the moment she had remembered what was going to happen, suddenly twisted inside her. She started to feel hot, as if her face was glowing. It made her feel dizzy.

She managed to finish dressing, and then sat down and began to brush her hair, obsessively dragging the brush through it over and over again, long after all the tangles had gone. The repetitive motion helped to calm her down slightly.

There was a knock at the door. 'Sif?'

Sif dropped the brush. 'Yes, Mother?'

Nasuada's voice was slightly muffled by the door. 'We have to leave soon. You'd better hurry if you want some breakfast.'

Sif's stomach churned even more violently at the thought of food. 'I'm all right,' she called back. 'I'm not hungry.'

'Well, all right. Be sure to come to the dining hall well before noon, understand?'

'Yes, Mother.'

Sif listened nervously until the sound of her mother's footsteps had retreated, and then stared at herself in the mirror. Even in spite of her brown skin she looked pale; there were dark smudges around her eyes, and her fringe was still disordered. She found a comb and did her best to neaten it, but it didn't help much. Moving a little jerkily, she fetched her jewellery box and started to sort through it for a pair of earrings and a necklace to match her gown. She finally settled for the sapphire necklace that Murtagh had given her for her last birthday, along with a matching pair of earrings.

The clasp on the necklace refused to work. She fumbled with it, awkwardly reaching to the back of her own neck, but the little hook refused to click into place and kept getting tangled with her hair. She gritted her teeth and made another attempt; this time it seemed to work and she let go, but the clasp instantly came undone and the necklace slid off onto her lap. Sif picked it up, and then suddenly burst into tears.

She buried her face in her hands, the necklace still dangling between her fingers, and sobbed; suddenly able to release all the misery that had been brewing inside her for days. She hated this, hated all of it. Where was the peaceful home she had once known, where everything made sense and nothing was dangerous? What had happened to the time when she could enjoy being with her friends and her family – go flying with Saphira, play with her little brother, share secrets and laughter with her mother and listen to Murtagh's stories by the fire? When had her home suddenly turned into this place of scheming and unease, where people talked behind closed doors and not even her own mother had time for her? And even though she had always been frightened of the King, she found herself miserable over his death. Without him, everything was different. There was no more certainty, no more security. Without him, the future looked unfriendly and full of hidden dangers. Maybe even war.

Sif heard the door open and close quietly, but she didn't turn around. She was embarrassed to be seen crying, but angry as well. _Go away,_ she thought.

A voice behind her said; 'Gosh, I'm sorry.'

Sif turned sharply. 'I don't w- _Skandar!'_

And there he was, large as life, standing over by the fireplace and watching her uncertainly. 'Um, I… er… hello, Sif.'

Sif got out of her chair so quickly it fell over, and before she knew what she was doing she had rushed across the room and thrown her arms around him. 'Skandar!'

He held her rather awkwardly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-,'

Sif didn't hear him. She held him tightly, sobbing into his thin chest. She tried to speak, but the words came out broken and she didn't know what to say anyway.

Skandar seemed to understand. He held onto her a little more tightly, and patted her back. 'It's all right,' he murmured. 'It's all right, Skandar's here. It's all right, Sif.'

She calmed down eventually, and let go of him, staring at him as if she couldn't quite believe he was real. 'Where have you been?' she said. 'What's that you're wearing?'

'Oh. Uh…' Skandar backed off slightly. His hair was neat and glossy, and he had shaved off most of the hair that had sprouted on his face but had styled the rest, leaving him with the same pointed goatee he had had on their first meeting. And he was clad in a long black robe over a pair of black leggings and the same fur boots he'd had before.

'Where did you get it from?' said Sif.

'I made it,' said Skandar. 'I know it probably looks a little out of place here, but… well, it's what I've always worn.'

Sif began to feel uneasy. 'Why?'

'Well, it's what my people wear,' said Skandar. 'Most of the time,' he added.

'Where have you been?' said Sif. 'We looked for you for days!'

Skandar looked at the ground. 'Well…' he looked up suddenly. 'I'm sorry, Sif. For shouting at you like that. I shouldn't have. I still feel bad about it, but I was upset, you see…'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'But after that. Why didn't you come out before?'

'I wanted to,' he said. 'I knew you were looking for me, but I wasn't in very good shape. I've been ill.'

Looking at him, Sif found it easy to believe it. He looked a little thinner than before, and his eyes were red-rimmed. 'What happened?'

He frowned. 'I still don't know. But I got better after a couple of days, and after that…'

'Why didn't you come to the city then?' said Sif. 'We would have let you in… you said you wanted to meet the others, so why didn't you come?'

Skandar was avoiding her gaze. 'I know I did. I just… it was… I was…'

Sif dared to take his hand. 'What?'

He looked up. 'I was afraid,' he said simply.

That took her by surprise. 'Why? What of?'

Skandar was silent for a time, staring at her face, and then he abruptly pulled his hand out of hers and turned away. 'Sif, I've… I've done something very wrong.'

Sif felt herself go cold all over. 'What? What are you talking about?'

'I don't want… I'm frightened,' said Skandar. 'Of what they'll do to me when they find out. That's why I didn't want to come to the castle. I was afraid of them.' He turned back to look at her. 'Sif, I think they might kill me.'

She grabbed him by the shoulders. 'Skandar, what have you done? _What have you done?'_

He closed his eyes. 'I'm sorry, Sif. I didn't want to do it. But I had to.'

She felt her grip tighten. 'They think you poisoned the King. But you didn't do it, did you? I know you didn't do it. Please, Skandar. Tell me you didn't do it.'

Skandar shook his head wordlessly. 'What I am… is something terrible. But it's not… it's not that I… Sif…'

Sif let go. 'Oh gods. You did it. You killed the King. You're a murderer.'

Skandar hadn't moved. He breathed in deeply, keeping his eyes closed. Finally, he opened them again. 'All right,' he said quietly. 'All right. I'm ready. It's time. Come with me, Sif. Please.'

Sif kept well back as he walked toward the door. 'What are you going to do?'

Skandar paused to pick up a long, wrapped bundle that was leaning against the wall by the door. 'I'm going to do what I promised I would,' he said. 'I'm going to introduce myself to your mother. But…' he looked back at her. 'Stay by me, Sif. I need you there.'

Sif's eyes flicked toward the door. Very slowly, she nodded. 'I'm coming. Just… give me a moment.'

'All right.'

Skandar stood by, waiting. Sif looked at him, then glanced toward the large chest by the wall. 'Wait for me outside, will you?'

Skandar nodded and slipped out through the door, not making a sound. The instant he was out of sight, Sif darted over to the chest and opened it. Her father's sword was resting on top of the heap. She pulled it out and strapped it to her back as fast as she could, fumbling with the straps but not caring one bit that they spoilt the hang of her dress. Its weight felt very reassuring. As soon as it was on she hurried after Skandar, not wanting to make him suspicious.

He was just outside in the corridor, and walked away along it as soon as she arrived. She followed him as closely as she dared, every nerve in her body screaming at her. For an instant she thought of calling the guards, but she changed her mind. Skandar was going to the dining hall. There would be four fully-trained dragon riders there. All she had to do was tell her mother the truth, and it would all be over.

Skandar didn't pay much attention to her. All of it seemed to be focused on his destination instead. His breathing sounded harsh and shallow, and there was something about the way he walked… as if he were poised to run at any moment. He walked like a predator, and it frightened Sif.

However, when they reached the door to the dining hall and he stopped and turned to look at her, his expression still had the same frightened appeal in it. 'Well,' he said, sounding a little strained. 'This is it. I'm ready. Are you?'

Sif nodded. 'Go on, Skandar.'

He smiled very slightly at her. 'Thankyou.' He took in a deep breath and pushed the door open, and he and Sif entered the dining hall.

The others were all there, eating an early lunch. None of them reacted much to the sound of the door opening, but when they looked up and saw Skandar Sif saw shock written all over their faces. Carnoc and Jarsha froze. Murtagh swore. Nasuada, who was standing, looked straight at him and dropped her cup.

Sif ran straight to her and grabbed her arm. 'Mother…'

Skandar didn't hesitate. He strode toward Nasuada, still limping slightly on his injured leg.

Nasuada backed away. 'You!' she yelled, finding her voice. 'No! This can't… it's not…'

Sif tugged at her arm. 'Mother, it's not him. It's Skandar. This is Skandar.'

Skandar halted, looking Nasuada up and down. Then he bowed. 'It's an honour to meet you, Lady Nasuada. Sif has told me all about you. And you…' he turned to look at the others. 'Lord Murtagh, son of Morzan. And you, Lord Carnoc, and you, Lord Jarsha. Great riders all, I have no doubt.'

'What are you doing here?' Murtagh asked in a low voice. 'When did you come back?'

'A few months ago, actually,' said Skandar. 'Please, allow me to introduce myself.' He paused, apparently steeling himself, and then bowed again. 'I am Prince Skandar Taranisäii-Traeganni, son of King Galbatorix Taranisäii-Traeganni, Lord of Alagaësia, and his Queen, Skade Silverscales of the Storm Dragon clan.'

In that moment, Sif felt as if her whole world had crumbled into dust. 'No!' she cried, starting toward him. 'Skandar, don't-!'

He gave her a resigned look. 'I'm sorry, Sif.'

'_Prince_ Skandar?' said Murtagh. 'Oh my gods…'

Skandar inclined his head toward him. 'My father spoke very highly of you, Lord Murtagh. He said you were an honourable man, and one of extraordinary courage.'

'But what are you doing here?' said Nasuada. 'How did…?'

Skandar shrugged. 'I sensed that it was time for me to come home, and now I am.' He glanced around at the hall. 'My father's old home. This is where I was born.'

Nasuada sank into a chair. 'No. No, this isn't possible. He didn't have any children.'

'Yes he did,' Murtagh interrupted. 'He had a son. Skandar. Named for his grandfather, the dark elf. I _knew_ I knew that name from somewhere.' He looked at Skandar. 'But… he told me he was dead.'

'Everyone knew the King's son was dead,' said Carnoc. 'He died only a few months after he was born. That is…' he trailed off.

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'He told me that was what he had led everyone to believe. No doubt he kept me well hidden from you, my Lords and Lady.'

'But where is he now?' said Nasuada. 'And the Queen?'

Skandar hesitated. 'They're… not here. They left Alagaësia. So did I. I grew up in a different land, far away from here. Now I have come back. And not a moment too soon, it would seem.'

'I don't believe this,' said Murtagh.

Skandar gave him an icy look. 'It makes no difference to me what you choose to believe, my Lord. But you would be well advised to believe this.' He paused to take the long bundle from under his arm, and pulled away the wrappings.

Underneath was a sword in a sheath. The hilt was silver and set with a large diamond.

Skandar drew it. The blade gleamed in the light from the windows; it was pure white, like snow, chased with silver veins. Just below the hilt there was a triple-spiral symbol, etched into the metal.

Skandar flourished it expertly. 'My father's sword. No doubt you recognise it.'

Murtagh stood up and ventured closer, staring fixedly at the blade. 'It's the sword,' he said softly. 'His sword. White Violence.'

Skandar put it back into its sheath. There were straps dangling from it, and he began to strap it to his back in the manner of a rider. 'Yes. My father gave it to me. And let me assure you that I know how to use it.'

Every word he spoke was like a dagger in Sif's heart. She listened, unable to speak, hot tears burning behind her eyes. As they blurred, she thought she saw a vision, captured briefly in the shadows. A vision of a man in a black robe with a pointed black beard, eyes glittering. The shade of Galbatorix, laughing at her.

But she did not just see him in her imagination. She could see him now, alive and real in front of her. She had been seeing him for days, hidden in plain sight.

Shock and dismay were written all over Nasuada's face. 'I don't understand,' she said at last, standing up too and coming closer. 'Sif brought you here. She said…'

'Don't blame Sif,' Skandar interrupted. 'She knew nothing. I needed her help to get here, so I lied to her. I told her I was a weredragon, but I pretended to be… something other than what I really am.'

'But you turned yourself into a dragon!' Sif half-screamed, finding her voice again. 'I saw you! You're a weredragon!'

'I'm not denying that,' said Skandar. He turned away, walking toward the window, and looked out through it at the city. 'The power to change my shape is one I have always had,' he said distantly. 'I was born with it. My father could not do it, and my mother did it only twice that I know of.'

'The Queen-?' Murtagh began.

Skandar turned back. 'Yes. My mother was a weredragon, of sorts. But I have the power to change at will. Now…' he came back to the centre of the room. 'I believe you have a meeting to attend very shortly. At noon, in fact. If you don't mind, I would like to attend it.'

'The meeting is for-,' Nasuada began.

Skandar raised a hand to silence her. 'For riders and for relatives of the late King. I believe I fit into the second category. Either way, as the son of the previous ruler of this country, I believe I am entitled to a say in what happens to his realm.'

Nasuada glanced at Murtagh. 'Well-,'

'Yes,' said Murtagh. 'You are correct… Lord Skandar.' Nasuada looked about to object, but he caught her eye and silently shook his head. 'Of course you may come.'

'Thankyou,' Skandar said gravely. 'Now, I'd prefer not to have to change my shape to get there… it's a short trip, and the change takes time and would use up a chunk of my energy which I would prefer to leave intact lest it interfere with my judgement. I would be happy to walk the distance, but you would be obliged to wait for me. Therefore, I would like to request that one of you ask your partner to carry me. I can assure you that I don't weigh very much,' he added, when they looked doubtful.

Nasuada hesitated. 'I'm… sure that won't be a problem, Skandar,' she said at last. 'If you could just give us a few moments to talk it over, I have no doubt we could arrange something.'

Skandar bowed and smiled thinly at her. 'Thankyou, my Lady. That would not be a problem at all. I shall wait for you outside.'

Sif watched him leave the room.

The instant he was gone, everyone turned to look at her.

Her mother's face was full of fury. 'Sif, what in the gods' names-?'

It was too much. Sif started to cry. 'Mother, please don't. I didn't know.'

'How could you not know?' Nasuada yelled. 'For gods' sakes, he looks like his twin, not his son! And you brought him here-,'

Murtagh grabbed her shoulder. 'Nasuada, stop it. Leave her alone. For gods' sakes, can't you see she's upset enough already?'

Sif was backing away. 'I can't… I have to get out of here.'

She fled the room without waiting for an answer. She didn't know where she had intended to go, but the instant she left the room she saw Skandar. He was leaning against the wall of the corridor and picking at his claws.

The instant Sif saw him, her emotions boiled over into rage. She strode up to him and slapped him in the face as hard as she could.

Or tried to. The instant she brought her hand down, his own hand shot up and caught her by the wrist. 'Please don't do that,' he said, without looking up.

Sif wrenched herself free. 'You lied to me!' she shouted. 'You _lied!'_

Skandar started up. 'Sif, listen to me-,'

'I hate you! I hate-,' Sif started to cry again. 'I thought you were my friend. I thought I loved you. And all the time you were his son. You were his…' she couldn't look at him.

'Sif-,' Skandar took her by the shoulder. 'Sif, stop that. Look at me.'

She did. 'You lied,' she said again.

'Sif, it's not my fault who my father is,' said Skandar.

'You _lied!'_

'Of course I did,' said Skandar, his voice suddenly sharp. 'Use your head, Sif. What would you have done if I'd told you the truth? Come on, think about it. I saw how you looked at me in the library. You thought I was him. I saw hatred and fear in your face that I've never seen before in my life. Yes, lying to you like that was cruel and I know you're hurt, but I didn't have any choice. I was lost, I was starving, and I needed your help.'

Sif wilted. 'And you lied to me. You were lying all that time…'

'Yes.' The matter-of-fact way he said it hit her like a physical blow. 'I played a role,' he said. 'You wanted a friend, so I let myself be what you wanted me to be. It's a role I've played before.' A spasm of disgust went across his face. 'Oh yes. Poor, naïve little Skandar, the overgrown child who doesn't know what a door is and eats with his fingers like some kind of animal.'

'You were pretending,' Sif said in a flat voice.

'Yes. It was very boring. I acted like a child, so you treated me like one. It was embarrassing, having you trying to mother me all the time, but I put up with it.'

Sif turned away. 'I hate you.'

'It could have been worse, you know,' Skandar said mildly.

She turned back with a sudden movement. 'Could have been _worse?'_

'Yes.' Skandar raised his eyebrows. 'What, you don't believe me? I lied only as much as I had to. Perhaps you remember a certain night before we left Gil'ead?'

Real pain flared in Sif's chest. 'Stop it. Shut up.'

'I could have bedded you that night,' Skandar went on. 'Admit it. If I had kissed you back and then tried to take it further, you would have let me. And I admit it… I was tempted. Just for a moment. But I wouldn't do it. I did my best to push you away without hurting you too much… I thought of just telling you I wasn't interested, but I knew that would upset you more than was necessary, so I settled for just trying to delay you and hoped you would lose interest.' He sighed. 'I knew that if you found out you had given your virginity to Galbatorix's son, it would destroy you. I am not a monster, Sif. I wouldn't do that to anyone.'

Sif had no more energy to shout. 'Oh gods,' she half-whispered. 'What have I done? I'm such an idiot…'

'You knew it,' said Skandar. 'Admit it to yourself, Sif. You knew what I was, deep down. You could see him in me, but you denied it. I saw the statue in the courtyard… I spent hours looking at it. It was like looking into a mirror. But when I stood next to it and begged you to tell me we looked nothing alike, you said we weren't. You were lying to me, and to yourself. Because you didn't want to believe it could be true.'

Sif couldn't look at him any more. 'Just go away. Leave me alone.'

He nudged her and grinned. 'But we had fun, didn't we?'

When Sif looked up despite herself, he did a graceful little twirl that was unmistakeably a step from the _Dance of the Dragons, _that she had taught him. 'Remember when we danced together?' he said. 'I do. It was wonderful. I've always liked to dance. And then I bit that idiot Elgin…'

'Go away!' Sif shouted.

Skandar moved closer. 'Come on, Sif. It's still me. I'm still your Skandar. You don't have to teach me to read any more, that's all. And I know all sorts of dances I could teach you, and we could dance them together…'

At that moment the door to the dining hall opened, and Nasuada emerged.

'Lord… Skandar.'

Skandar turned toward her, suddenly distant and formal again. 'Yes, my Lady?'

Nasuada looked strained. Murtagh was close behind her, and the others. 'We have conferred,' she said stiffly. 'And Lord Murtagh has talked to Thorn, his partner. He has agreed to carry you to the meeting place.'

'Excellent,' said Skandar, and as he spoke Sif knew that she didn't know him, had never known him, he hadn't let her know him…

Everyone was keeping their distance from him as he strode off toward the dragon roost. Sif could see their real feelings showing now his back was turned. Jarsha looked terrified, Carnoc nervous, and Murtagh curiously shut-in. He had always been good at concealing his emotions. But there was absolutely nothing concealed about the look of pure, white-hot hatred on Nasuada's face. Even Sif, for all her distress and anger, couldn't help but shrink away from it. She suddenly remembered Skandar's fear. _I think they might kill me._

Was _that_ what he had meant?

She looked ahead at him, moving with that predatory stalk, his boots making no sound on the stone floor. He didn't look frightened now. Not of anything.

The dragons up on the roost were already aware of what had happened. Sif went straight to Saphira, pressing herself against the dragon's leg. _'Saphira…'_

Saphira nuzzled her. _'Sif. Oh, Sif, I'm so sorry…'_

'_You told me,'_ Sif sobbed. _'You told me not to trust him. Gods, Saphira, I'm so sorry. I should have listened to you, I should…!'_

'_Hush_,' said Saphira. _'It's not your fault, Sif. It's his.' _She raised her head to glare at Skandar. He stared back calmly and then turned away to talk to Thorn. The red dragon was shifting uneasily, wings twitching, but then he brought his head down and touched his snout to Skandar's chest. Skandar touched him, scratching the rough scales around Thorn's nostrils. Thorn growled softly and then withdrew, looking at the weredragon with what Sif recognised as respect. Maybe even affection.

She turned away and began putting Saphira's saddle on. _'Why is he here? Why did he have to come? Can't he just leave us alone?'_

'_Well,'_ Saphira growled. _'I suppose this is his home…'_

'_Well it's not!'_ Sif shouted. _'This is our place now, not his! Why couldn't he just stay wherever he was before?'_

The other riders were mounting up. Sif followed suit, but Saphira didn't take off immediately. She and the other dragons stayed where they were, waiting.

Murtagh offered to help Skandar onto Thorn's back, but the weredragon calmly vaulted into the saddle and settled down as if he had done it a dozen times before, leaving Murtagh to climb up behind him. Once they were both secure, the red dragon took off.

The others quickly followed, flying toward the King's wood in a loose flock. Sif, clinging to Saphira's neck, dreaded their arrival.

They landed at the edge of the wood and dismounted, and Nasuada took charge.

'The meeting will be at the centre,' she told Skandar. 'In front of the mountain.'

Sif's heart beat faster. She ran to catch up with her mother as they set out. 'Mother, there's something I-,'

'Not now, Sif.'

'But-,'

'_Not now,'_ Nasuada said again.

Sif followed her, burning with resentment. She wasn't going to stay silent forever, she vowed. She would accuse him, as soon as everyone was there to hear her do it.

'_He poisoned the King,'_ she told Saphira. _'I know he did. I'm going to tell them all he did it.'_

'_Good,'_ said Saphira. _'You should. I'll help you.'_

The clearing in front of the mountain, where Ravana had died, had been enlarged since their last visit. Skirnir and his family had removed some of the trees and flattened the ground, creating a space large enough to accommodate every dragon there. They were already gathered, standing in a semi-circle with their backs to the mountain, with Skirnir and Lifrasir at the centre, flanked by their two sisters and by Valdyr and Dreyri.

The bonded dragons silently arranged themselves into the other half of the circle, with their riders standing in front of them. This was how records said the great council of elders had once stood in their chamber high up in the central tower of the original Ilirea, over a hundred years ago.

Nasuada started to come forward, obviously intending to begin the meeting, but she was too slow. Skandar had already overtaken her, and now he was standing in the middle of the circle, calmly facing the assembled wild dragons. He bowed to them.

Skirnir and Lifrasir started forward immediately, lowering their heads to look at him. Skandar kept still and allowed them to examine him. They did so, and almost immediately reeled backward in shock. The other four were quick to investigate, and, almost instantly, consternation broke out among them. Sif saw them shift around, wings twitching, nudging at each other. They made no sound, but she knew they were shouting in the privacy of their minds.

'_Please,'_ said Skandar, his mental voice cutting through the mind of everyone present. _'I can explain.'_

They calmed down slightly.

Skandar stepped forward. _'I am Prince Skandar Taranisäii,'_ he said, letting everyone hear him.

Skirnir lowered his head toward him. _'Skandar?'_

'_Yes,'_ Skandar said softly. _'I am your brother, Skirnir.'_

There was dead silence. No-one moved a muscle. And then, without warning, Skirnir roared. He reared up, neck arched, and bellowed. Lifrasir, Valdyr and Dreyri rushed forward as he did, and then all four of them were surrounding Skandar, nuzzling him and growling. Skandar looked taken aback for a moment, but then he broke into a broad grin and hugged Skirnir as well as he could, putting his arms around the dragon's face. He hugged Lifrasir, too, and Valdyr and Dreyri, and Katana and Balisong as well.

Sif's mouth fell open. _'They're happy!'_ she exclaimed. _'They're happy to see him!'_

'Skandar!' Skirnir shouted suddenly, abandoning mental speech for a moment. 'Skandar, my brother. My brother!'

Nasuada started forward as they started to settle down again. 'You mean you know him?'

'_Of course,'_ said Lifrasir. _'All of us know him. We saw him when he was a baby. I helped our mother to escape from Urû'baen with him a few days after he was born. We were there when…'_ she glanced at Skandar, and fell silent.

'I don't understand,' said Nasuada. '"Our" mother? I understand that you looked upon his father as something of a father-figure, but…'

There was a sudden silence. Skirnir and Lifrasir exchanged glances.

'I think that perhaps it's time to tell them the whole truth,' said Skandar. 'Do you agree, my brother and sisters?'

Skirnir sighed. _'I suppose we should.'_

Skandar turned to Nasuada and the other riders. 'My mother… Queen Skade… was not an elf. She was a dragon. A silver dragon. Skade, daughter of the Night Dragon.'

'We knew she called herself that, but-,'

'It was more than just words,' said Skandar. 'She was a dragon. She was born a dragon, and she lived most of her life as one. However…' he started to pace back and forth, shoulders hunched. 'I'll make it brief. A long time ago, before the Fall of the riders, my mother was arrested by Vrael's riders and accused of a crime. As punishment, they transformed her into an elf and then cast her out. She wandered for a long time, trapped in the form she hated most… and then she met my father, who was also an exile at the time. They fell in love. And, I assume, consummated that love. My mother was changed back into a dragon and flew away to her father's country…'

'_Where she laid a clutch of eggs,'_ Lifrasir finished. _'My siblings and I were what hatched from them.'_

Nasuada looked horrified. 'But that's not-,'

'Oh, do shut up,' said Skandar. 'Anyway, in the fullness of time my mother came back to Alagaësia, where she was reunited with my father and chose to become an elf permanently in order to be with him. He made her his Queen, and five years later… I was born. And now here I am, back where I belong.'

Skirnir didn't look interested in the expressions of horror and disbelief on the faces of the riders. All his attention was on Skandar. _'But where are they now?'_ he said. _'Where are our parents, Skandar?'_

Skandar faltered, and looked at the ground. _'They didn't come back with me. They're still away over the sea. In another land.'_

'_But are they well?'_ said Skirnir.

'_They're… at peace,'_ said Skandar.

'_Well…'_ Skirnir looked uncertain. _'That's good. I worried about them.'_

'_You don't need to any more,'_ said Skandar. 'Now…' he reverted to normal speech, and turned to look around at everyone. 'I think we have more important matters to discuss than these family affairs. Because…' he looked toward the sealed entrance to Ravana's cave. 'Because the King is dead,' he added softly.

Sif snapped back to reality. She strode forward, heading straight for him. 'Because you killed him!' she shouted. 'You poisoned the King!'

Skandar gave her an affronted look. 'Excuse me?'

'I know you did it!' Sif yelled, pointing at him. 'Mother, you have to arrest him! Put him in prison! Have him killed!'

The wild dragons started to growl at her.

Nasuada took her by the arm. 'Sif-!'

Sif shook herself free. 'It's true!' she said. 'I saw him, and so did Saphira! He took food to the King. A dead deer. And he put poison on it. He did it right in front of me! The King died right after he spoke to him!'

Skirnir and the other dragons started to look uncertain.

So did Nasuada. 'Is this true?' she said to Skandar.

Skandar's jaw tightened. 'I beg your pardon, my Lady, but are you by any chance accusing me of poisoning my own grandfather?'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'But the question must be asked.'

'I see. Well, yes, Sif is quite right… I did take food to the King. She had told me he liked it when people brought offerings, so that's what I did. I had killed a deer for my own dinner – and hers – the night before. The meat was starting to age, so I rubbed a little rotwort into it. Common practise among hunters where I grew up.'

'Rotwort?' said Murtagh. 'I've never heard of it.'

'Well maybe they call it something different here,' said Skandar. 'But I can assure you that it isn't poisonous.'

'Prove it,' Sif spat.

'If you insist.' Skandar walked away. They watched him disappear into the trees, and then waited. He returned a few moments later holding a large green leaf, which he held up for everyone to see. 'See?' he said. 'Rotwort. Very common around here.'

'Is that the herb you saw him use?' said Nasuada, to Sif.

Sif went closer to look at it. 'I'm not sure…'

'Here,' said Skandar. 'Have a look at it if you really must.'

Sif took it. It was thick and fleshy, shaped like a rabbit's ear. At first she wasn't certain that it was the same herb she had seen him rub into the deer's flesh, but when she sniffed at the broken-off end she recognised the sharp smell at once.

'Yes,' she said, to her mother. 'Yes, this is it.'

Nasuada fixed Skandar with a stony look as he took the herb back. 'Now eat it,' she said.

He gave her a pained look. 'Do I have to? I'd really rather not.'

'Yes.'

'Oh fine.' Skandar folded the leaf up, hesitated for the fraction of a second, and then put it in his mouth and started to chew.

Everyone was staring at him. At first everything appeared to be fine; Skandar's nose wrinkled as he chewed on it, his jaw moving methodically… and then Sif saw his face contort.


	12. Shadow's Heir

**Chapter Twelve**

**Shadow's Heir**

Skandar was starting to sweat. He chewed more rapidly, and then swallowed. Almost instantly, he started to groan and clutch at his throat, gagging. 'Oh _gods_…'

Sif's pulse quickened. 'It's poison!'

Skandar cast an appealing glance at Murtagh. 'For the love of gods, has anyone got any water with them?'

'I've got some wine,' said Carnoc.

'Well give it here!'

Nasuada stepped in the way. 'No.'

'I've eaten it, haven't I?' said Skandar. 'What d'you want from me, blood?'

'If it isn't poisonous, then why are you looking like that?' Sif said triumphantly.

Skandar started to spit and wipe his mouth on his sleeve. 'Because it tastes horrible, that's why! You're not supposed to eat this thing on its own, you know.'

'Well…' Nasuada started to look doubtful.

'Stop it, Nasuada,' said Murtagh. 'If it was poisonous enough to kill a dragon as big as the King, he'd be dead already.'

Skandar dusted himself down. 'I don't know what killed the King,' he said. 'But if he was poisoned, then I intend to make every effort to find out who it was. Oh _come on!'_ he added in exasperation, seeing Nasuada's expression. 'Use your damned mind, my Lady. What in the world could I have to gain from killing him? Godsdammit, I _needed _him. I needed his protection! That's why I came here to speak with him before I did anything else. Look, I'm Galbatorix's son. And unlike Skirnir here, I happen to look like him. I knew that you'd recognise me the instant you saw me, and I had no reason to think that you wouldn't try to kill me. I came here to speak with the King and ask him to place me under his protection. If he ordered you to leave me alone, you'd have to obey.'

'Then why did he attack you?' said Sif. 'I saw what happened. You made him angry. He roared at you. He threw you out of his cave so hard he nearly killed you.'

'Ah.' Skandar hesitated. 'Yes. Well. I said a few things I shouldn't have. Wasn't quite as humble as I should have been. I've never been very good at that sort of thing.' He sighed and scratched his beard. 'It makes me sad to think that was the only conversation I'll ever have with my grandfather. I wish I could have come and paid my respects after he died, but I've been unwell.'

'_That doesn't matter,'_ said Lifrasir, her mental voice warm. _'You're one of our family, Skandar, and as far as I'm concerned you'll always be welcome here.'_

Skandar smiled. 'It is good to have a family again. And now…' he turned to look around at everyone, 'Now that I've explained myself, I think we have something important to discuss. Namely, who is going to rule Alagaësia now.'

'Indeed,' said Nasuada. 'And-,'

'And,' said Skandar, 'And I already know what you're going to say next. I already know what you want, my Lady. And I think everyone else here knows or can guess. You want the riders to begin ruling Alagaësia as they did in the olden days… without a King.'

'_Is this true?'_ said Skirnir.

'Yes,' said Nasuada. 'It is true. We had planned to propose…'

The silver dragon stepped toward the centre of the circle. _'No,'_ he said.

'But with the proper-,'

'_No,'_ Skirnir said again. _'Absolutely not.'_

'We could-,'

'_We had already guessed that you were going to suggest this,'_ said Skirnir. _'We are all in agreement. The answer is no. We will not allow you to make yourselves masters of this land.'_

'Calm down,' said Nasuada. 'We aren't proposing anything radical here. After all, riders have ruled here in the past. Galbatorix was a rider.'

'_Nevertheless,'_ said Skirnir. _'We oppose it.'_ He raised his head. _'All of us here know something of what happened when this land was ruled by riders alone. Some of us have witnessed it.'_ He fixed Nasuada with a terrible stare. _'You are too powerful. Far too powerful. Harnessed correctly, that power can do great things. Left unchecked, it can create destruction too terrible to imagine. But it does not need to be imagined, does it? We have all seen it happen.'_

'Yes,' said Nasuada. 'And we acknowledge that there have been mistakes in the past. We wouldn't dream of letting it happen again. And with your advice and guidance-,'

'_No.'_ Skirnir was growling now, his talons digging deep into the ground. _'We cannot accept that. Guidance you need, and guidance you shall have, little human. But from a King. A new King, one you respect.'_

'But there _is_ no such King!' said Nasuada. 'Ravana left no heirs! Lord Kullervo is long gone, and you-,'

'Excuse me,' said Skandar.

'-A King cannot mount the throne unless he is legitimately royal, born to the previous ruler, or unless his predecessor abdicates power to him directly. With Ravana dead-,'

A roar split the silence.

Everyone stopped dead and turned to look.

Skandar coughed. 'Skirnir is correct,' he said. 'The riders cannot rule without a King to keep them in line. One who is not a rider himself, and who owes no especial allegiance to them.' He smoothed down his robe. 'And that King is me.'

Nasuada went pale. _'What?'_

'I'm sure you heard me,' Skandar said calmly. 'I spoke quite clearly. You need a King. The previous one has no clear heir, so one must be chosen. Therefore, I suggest myself.'

Everyone looked uncertain.

'I have been thinking it over for a long time,' Skandar went on, 'And I have no doubts. It is my destiny and my birthright to rule this land. Think about it.' He started to pace again, shoulders hunched. 'I have no special allegiance to any race. I have no reason to favour one above the others. I could unite human and dragon because…' he paused, and grinned his sharp-toothed grin. '…after all, I embody both. I'm young and strong. I know how to fight. I have learned the art of Kingship very well. I understand the workings of politics at least as well as my father did. I _want_ to be King. And finally…' he stopped pacing. 'I am the son of a King and a Queen. My blood is royal, mixed though it be.'

There was silence. Clearly, no-one knew how to react.

'Think about it!' Skandar said again, almost urgently. 'If you name me King, everything will be safe and secure. There will be no need for fighting, or even arguing! I could keep everything together. All I need is your support.'

Silence.

Then Skirnir stepped forward. _'I support you, brother,'_ he said.

Lifrasir hesitated, and then joined him. _'So do I.'_

'_And I,'_ said Valdyr.

'_I am… uncertain,'_ said Balisong. She looked at Skirnir. _'I had thought that Skirnir would be the next King. He is Galbatorix's son as well. And older than you.'_

'Indeed,' said Skandar. 'But there is something else that needs to be considered.' He reached into the pocket of his robe, and brought out a piece of paper. 'I took the liberty of searching through the archives in Lady Nasuada's office, and was able to locate this. It's an official decree made by my father about twenty years ago. It says… ahem… "By the command of King Galbatorix Taranisäii, Lord of Alagaësia, the lady Skade Silverscales is hereby anointed Queen of Alagaësia, to reign beside her King for the rest of their time upon the throne. It is hereby commanded that any child born of their union shall be recognised as royal blood, and heir to the throne of the King".' Skandar folded it up and put it back into his pocket. 'This was written _after_ you were born, Skirnir. But did you want to rule anyway?'

Skirnir shifted. _'No. I was prepared to do it if I had to, but I would be more than happy to step aside in your favour.'_

Balisong stepped forward. _'Very well. In that case, I will also give you my support.'_

'_And so will I,'_ said Katana.

'_And I,'_ said Dreyri.

As one, they turned to look at the riders.

'It's your move now, my Lords and Ladies,' said Skandar.

Sif looked at the others. None of them had moved, and all looked uncertain. She took several steps back. 'I don't support you,' she said. 'I oppose you.'

Nasuada went to her daughter's side. 'So do I.'

'And you?' said Skandar, looking at Murtagh.

'I don't know,' Jarsha cut in. 'This is too soon. I mean I… I really would prefer to have some time to think about it first.'

'I agree,' said Carnoc.

'By all means, take your time,' said Skandar. 'Lord Murtagh, what do you think?'

Nasuada was glaring at Murtagh, obviously waiting for him to declare his opposition along with her. He looked back with an agonised expression.

Then he stepped forward. 'I support you, Prince Skandar,' he said.

Skandar relaxed very slightly. 'Thankyou, Lord Murtagh. With all my heart.'

Nasuada's face was like stone. 'I think we have talked enough,' she said. 'We should meet again tomorrow to discuss the matter further, so that everyone has time to make their final decision.'

'As you wish,' said Skandar, bowing. 'However…' his eyes narrowed very slightly, 'I can promise you right now, my Lady, that if I must fight for my throne, I shall.'

Nasuada nodded. 'Lord… Skandar,' she said stiffly. 'If you would like to be provided with quarters in the castle until tomorrow's meeting, we would be more than happy…'

'Thankyou very much, my Lady, but I would prefer to make camp out here for the night. After all…' he glanced at Sif. 'I never really got used to sleeping indoors.'

Skandar made camp not too far away from the mountain where his dragon family would spend the night, among a stand of oak trees. He'd retrieved his bundle of possessions, and once he had built and lit a fire he sorted through them, checking that everything was still there and refolding the selection of robes he had brought with him to Alagaësia. They were all still in order; a little musty-smelling after having been bundled up for so long, but clean and not too creased. He considered getting rid of the other clothes that Sif had given him, but found himself putting them back. They could still be useful, he told himself.

Once he was sure that the fire was burning well, he slipped off into the forest and caught another deer. He always enjoyed hunting for himself. He'd done it hundreds of times and had it down to a fine art, but it was always challenging, and he loved it. He slid through the trees in absolute silence, moving from shadow to shadow, every sense on the alert. He spotted his target and stalked it for a long time, full of the thrill that came from knowing that it had no knowledge of his presence. He was invisible. A living shadow.

At last, when the time was right and he had moved himself into position, he pounced. The deer shied away, but too late. He wrenched its head upward by the horns, and before it could pull free he had sunk his teeth into its neck and pulled sideways with a quick, violent motion which opened the jugular vein and took away the deer's life in a gush of blood.

Skandar rested for a time and then dragged the carcass back to his camp, where the fire had now built up a good bed of coals. There he cut off a leg, just as he had done on the night he had camped with Sif, and spitted some of the meat over the fire.

Once that was done, he sat back against a tree and let himself relax.

The outcome of the meeting had been better than he'd hoped. He hadn't expected unanimous support, and the amount of support he had actually received was greater than what he'd dared to hope for. He'd been particularly surprised when Murtagh had decided to side with him. Having a rider on his side would be invaluable. However, having at least two who were emphatically not on his side was going to be a problem. Something would have to be done about that.

He sighed. No matter how much he tried to keep his mind on important matters, Sif's face kept sliding back into his consciousness. He'd been dreading the moment when he would have to give up the charade and reveal his true identity to her, but somehow he'd held onto the hope that she wouldn't… well, that she wouldn't react the way she had. He hadn't been anywhere near naïve enough to think she wouldn't be hurt, but in spite of himself he had believed that maybe she would soften toward him after the initial shock was over. He hadn't known that she would hate him.

He realised that he was feeling depressed. 'Come on, Skandar,' he muttered to himself. 'What did you expect her to think, you idiot? _Anhoffter ewigod mo darfod_, my lad. You're a fool if you think otherwise.'

The meat was starting to smell ready. He sat up and shuffled over to have a closer look.

As he was pulling the spit out of the ground, the wind changed direction. He stopped.

'There's really no need to hide like that, Sif,' he said, without turning around, and derived a certain amount of satisfaction from the shocked intake of breath from behind him.

There was no reply, but Skandar was in no mood for games. He pulled the stick free and turned around, holding it gingerly in one hand, well away from himself to avoid dripping anything on his robe. 'Feel free to join me,' he said, waving his free hand at Sif, who was standing at the edge of the camp with a shocked look on her face. 'There's plenty of food, if you'd like some.'

Sif ventured closer. 'You smelled me, didn't you?'

Skandar took a bite of meat from off the spit. 'Yes. Please, make yourself comfortable.'

Sif hesitated for a long while before she finally sat down, keeping well away from him.

The meat wasn't cooked properly. Skandar put it back over the fire. 'I must say,' he said in conversational tones, 'That I'm surprised you came.'

'I wanted to talk to you,' said Sif.

'I'm sure you did,' said Skandar. 'But I doubt I'd be very talkative with a dagger in my back.'

Sif looked shocked. 'What?'

Skandar sighed and went back to his spot by the tree. 'Come on, now, let's not play games. Call me cynical, but I find it hard to believe that you would have come out here alone at night to sneak up behind me with a dagger in your hand because you wanted to ask me about the weather. Don't pull that face; I saw you hide it in your clothes. Personally, I'm just surprised you didn't try and use magic.'

Sif mumbled something.

Skandar raised an eyebrow. 'I'm sorry?'

'I wasn't going to try and kill you,' said Sif.

'Have it your own way, then. But if you weren't going to try and kill me, what are you doing here?'

Sif stared at the ground. 'I don't… I don't know.'

Skandar looked pointedly at the bulge in her sleeve. 'That dagger would probably sit more comfortably in your belt. I'm shocked, Sif. Why in the gods' names did you want to kill me, anyway?'

Sif recovered herself enough to glare at him. 'You're Galbatorix's son,' she said.

'So? Where's the crime in that?'

'And you're a liar,' Sif added.

Skandar nodded. 'Yes. I take after my father in that respect. And it's quite obvious to me that you take after yours.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Sif snapped.

'I mean you're narrow-minded,' said Skandar.

Sif jerked upright. 'I am _not!'_

'Is that so?' Skandar touched his chest. 'Sif, look at me. _Please_ look at me? Thankyou. You hate me,' he said softly. 'Why? What have I done to deserve that?'

'You lied to me.'

'So? Is that a crime that makes me worthy of death? No. Admit it; you don't want to kill me because I lied to you. You want to kill me because of my father. Yes, I know he killed your own father. I didn't. Sif, I'm sixteen years old. I've never killed anyone in my life, and I have no intention of starting.'

'Well you did!' said Sif. 'You killed the King. I _know_ you did it.'

'Can you prove that?'

Sif hesitated. 'No. But you did it.'

'There you go, then,' said Skandar, sitting back as if that settled it.

'You did it,' Sif said again, but she was unable to keep the uncertainty out of her voice. 'I don't know how, but you did it.'

Skandar raised an eyebrow. 'You're completely convinced of it, aren't you? And it's not because you have any proof. You don't trust me because I'm Galbatorix's son. And you think you're not narrow minded. Well, I'm sure an uneducated savage like me wouldn't know the difference, but you seem pretty narrow-minded to me.'

'Well if you didn't do it, who did?' said Sif.

'I told you; I don't know,' said Skandar. 'But I have my suspicions.'

'Like what?' said Sif, not wanting to give him any leeway.

Skandar got up and went to check on the meat again. 'I don't know about the who,' he said. 'But I have a theory about the how.' He pulled the spit out of the ground again and offered it to her. 'Would you like some? It's a bit burnt.'

Sif shook her head.

'Please yourself.' Skandar sat down cross-legged and pulled a piece of meat off the stick. He ate it, chewing thoroughly before he swallowed, and Sif saw him wince briefly and put a hand to his stomach. 'Oooh. Not nice. I'm still a little delicate, unfortunately.'

'What's your theory?' Sif persisted.

'I told you I was ill,' said Skandar. 'Well it happened like this… I was feeling a bit shaken-up after I left you at the cave, so I went to look for some water. I found a big pond very close to the mountain – almost in its shadow, actually. There were very large dragon-tracks around it, and I realised the King must drink there. I wasn't exactly in his good books, so I decided to play it safe and moved downstream to clean myself up and have a drink. I only took a few mouthfuls, and then I suddenly started to feel bad. Weak and sick. I found a safe hiding-place and slept for a while, and when I woke up I was in horrible pain. I was vomiting, and it hurt to breathe. It was like that for two days… I thought I was going to die. Luckily I got better in the end, and when I went to find out what was going on I found out the King was dead.'

Sif's forehead wrinkled. 'There was something in the water?'

'That's what I think. It'll have washed away by now, though. Well look,' Skandar added, seeing the look on her face, 'I treated that meat right in front of you. If it was poison, do you really think I would have done it while someone was watching? Do I look stupid to you?'

Sif sighed. 'Fine. Whatever.'

Skandar ate the rest of the meat in silence. 'But that's it, isn't it?' he said when he was done. 'You still don't believe me. I lied to you about who I was, so how do you know I'm not lying about everything else as well? Lies tend to breed more lies. But I swear to gods, Sif… I told you many, many things that weren't lies.' He added more wood to the fire, and watched it flare up. 'I wasn't lying when I said I needed help,' he said, not looking at her. 'I wasn't lying when I said I was lonely. I wasn't lying when I said that I liked you. And…' he finally looked at her. 'And I wasn't lying when I said I was afraid,' he added softly, his eyes glittering in the dark.

Sif looked away. 'Stop it.'

'But I _was_ afraid,' said Skandar. 'And I still am.'

'Afraid of what?' Sif demanded.

'Of you.'

'_Me?'_

'Yes. You and your fellow dragon-riders.' Skandar stared into the fire. 'Ever since I came back to this country I've been afraid. When I fell into the lake and you came along, I saw you and was terrified. I'd come intending to lie low… stay away from big cities for as long as I could, and do everything in my power to make sure that none of the Shur'tugal found out about me. But there I was, too weak to fly away, with one of them standing over me. I was convinced that you'd recognise me somehow, but when you didn't, and when you offered your help, I calmed down. I thought… if I could make friends with you, get you on my side, then maybe it wouldn't matter when you found out whose son I was. But I had to come to Urû'baen first, to find the King and get his protection. That was why I made you leave Gil'ead without any notice. I couldn't risk giving you the time to write to anyone. I'd made a stupid mistake, telling you my real name. There had to be people in Alagaësia who'd recognise it. So I made you come with me and stopped you making contact with the other riders until after I had spoken to the King.'

Sif was puzzled. 'What were you so afraid of, though? What did you think we were going to do?'

'Do?' Skandar exclaimed. 'I didn't know what you'd do, and I didn't want to find out until I had to. I thought you'd kill me. All of you. I had nightmares about it. When I finally decided it wouldn't be possible to keep hidden any longer… walking down the corridor to that hall felt like walking to the scaffold.'

'We wouldn't have killed you!' said Sif. 'Just because you're…'

'Yes,' said Skandar. 'I think you've just answered your own question, in fact.' He fiddled with his beard, tugging at the coarse hairs. 'My father doesn't have the best reputation in this country, and that's a fact I'm well aware of. He told me so himself. In fact…' he sighed and closed his eyes. 'He didn't want me to come here. When I was a boy, he spoke to me… he said…'

'Said what?'

'He asked me to make him a promise,' said Skandar. 'I said I would, and he said…' he paused. 'He said… "Skandar, you must promise me… if something happens, if we're parted, if you find yourself on your own… promise me you will never tell anyone that I'm your father". I didn't understand, and I asked him if I wasn't his son, and he said, "yes, you are, Skandar, and if you ever doubt that, just look into a mirror. But the world doesn't need to know it. No-one needs to know that Galbatorix had a son, or that you're him. Hide it. Lie. Pretend you've never met me. Curse my name if you have to. Just don't ever tell them".'

'But why would he ask you to do something like that?' said Sif.

Skandar shook his head. 'He was an old man, and he'd seen more suffering in his life than I could ever imagine. He wanted to keep me safe, and he thought he could do that by making me promise to disown him. I did for a long time. I haven't spoken his name to anyone since that day, and I pretended for as long as I could, but…'

'But what?' said Sif.

'But I looked into a mirror,' Skandar said simply. 'And it was that statue. It was the way you looked at me in the library. Pictures in the history books. Paintings hanging up in the castle. Mirrors everywhere. I saw my father's face everywhere I turned, everywhere I went, and I knew I couldn't hide it from the world, even if I wanted to. I have no magic, Sif. Even if I can change my shape I can't change my eyes, or my soul. I can't change my blood. No. I came back here to claim my birthright, and honour my father by taking care of the Empire he built as well as I could.'

'You want to be King,' said Sif.

'Yes. I've spent most of my life looking for my place in the world, and now I know where it is. Here, in Alagaësia, on my father's throne.'

'You can't,' said Sif. 'We… you shouldn't be King.'

'Why not?'

'Because… because…' Sif faltered.

Skandar grinned. 'You don't know, do you? You're confused, aren't you? Terribly, terribly confused.'

'No,' said Sif. 'You're a liar and you shouldn't be King.'

'But you're having trouble, aren't you?' said Skandar, in infuriatingly conversational tones. 'You really are. You want to hate me. You came here wanting to kill me, but you weren't quite certain of it, were you? Otherwise you would have attacked me with magic while my back was turned. But part of you held back, and it's still holding back now. When you came here you thought you hated me. It would be so much simpler that way. But now you're not so sure. Because even though you know what I am, you like me.'

'I don't!' Sif winced. It sounded stupid and childish the instant it was out of her mouth, but it was too late to take it back now.

'Yes you do,' said Skandar. 'Deep down you're wondering whether you really were deceived, and whether the man you found yourself falling for really does still exist inside this slippery little bastard sitting in front of you. Eh? Because you miss him, and you want him back, don't you?'

Sif said nothing.

'You know, I've been thinking,' Skandar went on. 'If I do succeed in claiming my throne, there'll be a lot of hard work to do afterward. Acquainting myself with the workings of the country will be difficult. And of course,' he added, 'I shall have to find myself a Queen.'

Sif felt a little chill run down her spine.

'It's sad, though,' said Skandar. 'It would probably just be a marriage of convenience. After all, power is attractive, but what woman would be able to fall for a freakish half-breed like me? I'd always hoped to marry for love, but I can't really see it happening. Can you?'

Sif got up quickly. 'I have to go now.'

'As you wish. Sleep well.' As she stumbled away from the campsite, Skandar turned to watch her go. 'We don't have to be enemies, Sif,' he called. 'It's our choice. Remember that.'


	13. The Council

**Chapter Thirteen**

**The Council**

Skandar had trouble getting to sleep that night after Sif left. He had briefly – very briefly – thought of infiltrating the castle again and eavesdropping on the riders to find out which way the wind was blowing, but decided against it very quickly. They were distrustful enough of him as it was, and they'd probably be expecting him to do something like that now they knew he'd already done it before. If he was caught spying now, it wouldn't do much to win him any support. Besides, he was tired. He hadn't fully realised just how much pressure he'd been under until some time after the meeting. He'd spent most of the rest of the day talking to his siblings; answering their questions as far as he could and asking some of his own. They'd made plans for the next day's gathering, after which Skandar had excused himself as politely as he could and had gone to find a secluded place to spend the night. Now, when he had finished eating and the encounter with Sif was over, he suddenly found himself overcome by exhaustion.

He lay back against the tree, trying to make himself breathe deeply. The memories of the day were etched deep into his brain, and when he closed his eyes they replayed themselves in vivid flashes, as if he were seeing them in the midst of a storm. Sif, in tears, her slim form trembling in his arms. The faces of the riders in the dining hall, frozen in shock and disbelief. And most of all Sif's face. The way she had looked at him when he had finally confessed. _I am Prince Skandar Taranisäii, I am Galbatorix's son, I am, I am… I am a liar. _

Skandar sighed and rubbed his face. It had been all he could do to remain calm then, when he had seen how they all reacted, and it hadn't just been because of the look of horrified betrayal Sif had given him. It had also been because of Nasuada. The others had accepted him eventually, once they had calmed down. Even Sif had gone some way toward letting herself acknowledge the truth. But Nasuada…

Skandar felt a strange cold shiver move over his skin and down his spine as he thought of the dark-skinned woman and how she had looked at him. It brought back memories he had tried to suppress but which had been growing stronger inside him ever since he had returned to the land of his birth. Memories of his father.

Skandar looked over toward the fire, and for a moment he imagined that he could see him sitting on the other side of it, his lame leg stretched out in front of him so that the heat could soothe it. _It's the cold. Always makes it ache. But you should've seen me when I was a little younger. I could run like anything. And dance, too. Not very often, but I could dance when I wanted to. _

Skandar shivered. _She hates me,_ he thought. _Hates me. _

_Remember, Skandar. You promised me. The world doesn't need to know that Galbatorix had a son. If they knew, they would kill you._

Skandar blinked and shook his head, banishing the memory. No. Nasuada wouldn't try to kill him. He hadn't done anything wrong. It would be murder. If she tried it the other riders would have to arrest her. And if they did nothing, his dragon siblings would. She wouldn't dare. But he knew she would never agree to support him. She would continue to oppose him no matter what. If anyone could stop him claiming the throne, it was her. Something would have to be done, but what?

Skandar thought back to the meeting. He felt ridiculous. They must have thought he was mad, or stupid, listening to him babble on like that. He'd made a complete spectacle of himself. What would his father have said if he'd seen him? He groaned internally, and wondered if they had noticed his hands shaking before he hid them behind his back.

Thoughts like these put his mind in such a turmoil that when he finally made himself lie down by the fire he couldn't sleep. He lay for hours, listening to his own heartbeat and uselessly trying to make himself calm down, until the fire burnt down and the night closed in. It was well past midnight when he finally slid into a fitful doze, and it was probably the disquiet in his mind that brought on the dream.

Or perhaps it was not so much a dream as a memory.

He was in the great Moon Temple in Hen Addef, where he had grown up, and the blue lamps were dim. But a bright full moon was shining in through the hole in the roof to touch the crescent-shaped altar. He paced back and forth, the sound of his boots the only thing that disturbed the eerie silence, until the shadows moved and she appeared.

Skandar stopped pacing. _I thought you wouldn't come._

Her face was pale and concerned. _Skandar, what is it? _

_I'm leaving, Eurwen._

She grabbed his hands in hers. _Skandar, no! Please don't._

_I'm sorry, but I've made my mind up._

_But why?_

_Why? You know why. After what happened at the ceremony, do you really think they'd want me to stay? Half the city already believes I'm some kind of monster, and after that happened in front of everyone…_

_Please, Skandar. Don't let them drive you out. This is your home._

_No. It was never my home, Eurwen. It was only ever a place to stay. Your father doesn't trust me. _

Eurwen clasped him to her. _I don't want to lose you, Skandar._

_I know. I mean… I understand. That's why I called you here. I'm leaving tonight, and I wanted to ask you to come with me._

She let go. _You can't leave now! Without telling anyone? _

_I have to. By morning, it'll be too late. They'll be looking for me. _

_Why?_

_I did it, Eurwen. I broke into the treasury, just a few hours ago. I took it back._ He held it up, so that the moonlight shone on its surface.

Eurwen put her hand to her mouth. _By the-! It's real!_

_Of course it's real. I brought it here with me. It's mine, and your father stole it from me. Now I've taken it back, and I must leave before they find out it's missing. Now tell me, Eurwen… will you come with me?_

She was backing away, uncertain. _Skandar I…_

_Please! Eurwen, I don't want to be away from you, I want you with me. I can do it now! I can change! I've worked it out. I'm going to carry my things with me in my talons… you could ride on my back. We could go away, you and me together! _

_Skandar don't. Don't make me choose between you and my home. _

Helpless anger burnt inside his chest. _Well if that be your answer, then ye leave me no choice but to leave ye behind. _

_Don't talk like that, Skandar. You sound like a human._

_Human! You'd prefer it if I sounded like an elf, would you? When I'm not that either? Well then I'll say goodbye to ye now, and goodbye to pretending as well. _

He could see tears on her face. _Don't, Skandar. Please don't._

_Eurwen…_ he came closer and took her in his arms. _Eurwen, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't make you choose like this. You're right. Just as always. _

_You'll stay then?_

He hesitated. _I won't hurt you or make you hurt yourself. I'll stay. We can talk it over another time, maybe. In the morning. How does that sound?_

She kissed him on the cheek. _It sounds good to me. I don't want to leave, and I don't want you to leave either. Take it back to the treasury, pretend nothing ever happened. We can get through this. _

He was staring at the thing in his hand. _Yes… _

_I have to go now. Someone will realise I've gone. I'll see you in the morning._

_Yes. The morning. _

Skandar watched her as she walked out of the Temple with scarcely a sound, knowing it would be the last time he ever saw her. He didn't take his eyes off her until she had vanished into the shadows, leaving him alone to look up at the moon. He said nothing to it; he had never been able to find the words. Instead he immersed himself in it, letting its light touch him and the shining silver circlet in his hand.

He looked at it again, turning it over in his fingers. So small and thin, and yet so heavy. Part of him wanted to try it on, but another part held him back. He tucked it into his robe and walked away, out of the patch of moonlight.

His belongings were waiting for him by the door, carefully wrapped in leather. He'd put in as many spare robes and boots as would fit, and the sword was hidden in among them. He tucked it under his arm and walked out of the Temple without looking back.

A hidden stairwell took him up to a concealed lookout post carved into the mountaintop, disused for centuries. From there he could climb up onto the uncut and rugged stones of the mountain itself, where nothing grew but moss and clumps of old grey grass.

He put down the bundle, well out of the way, and looked up at the moon again.

_Forgive me,_ he whispered, and began to take off his robe.

A fit of coughing woke him up next morning. He rolled over onto his front, trying to make himself stop, but it kept on going for some time; deep, hacking coughs that made his chest and lungs hurt and left him feeling shaky and wrung-out when they finally ended. He groaned and put a hand to his forehead. His chest felt crushed, and his throat hurt. He sat up and spat a mouthful of phlegm into the ashes of the fire, one hand groping for the wineskin he'd stolen and filled up at the castle. He drank deeply. It was far too early in the morning for alcohol, but he wasn't going to risk drinking water again in a hurry.

The wine was cheap and had an unpleasant, harsh taste, but it made him feel better. He tossed the wineskin aside and took down the bundle of cold venison he'd hung from a tree to keep it safe from scavengers. It was congealed and had a bit of dirt on it, but he ate it anyway. He had to keep his strength up. If some of whatever had made him sick was still in his system, then he couldn't afford to take risks. Suffering a relapse right now would not be good.

He yawned as he unwrapped his bundle of belongings, which he'd been using for a pillow, and selected his best robe – the one with silver spirals embroidered on the back and chest, and a collar trimmed with wolf fur. The next meeting would be at noon, like the previous one, and he wanted to look his best. He carefully hung the robe from a nearby tree and left it to air out while he sat down and combed his hair. It was getting a little grubby… he'd have to see if he could get hold of some lotion for it. He kept working at it anyway until he was satisfied, and then combed his beard as well, just to be on the safe side. After that he took off his old robe and folded it up, and rubbed some sweet-smelling herbs into his armpits to compensate for the lack of some handy water nearby to wash in. He scratched the bear tattoo on his right shoulder. He'd had it done some years ago, and though the process had been quite painful he was immensely proud of it. The other shoulder was marked with a black triple-spiral symbol. That had got him into some trouble after people had seen it, but he liked it almost as much as the bear.

He realised his heart was pounding as he pulled the new robe over his shoulders. Today was the day.

High on the slopes of Ravana's mountain, the dragons were also waking up. Skirnir was grooming his wings, apparently unconcerned about what was going to happen that day, and Lifrasir was tearing at the carcass of a giant deer she had caught. While she ate, Balisong alighted beside her.

Lifrasir looked up, immediately on her guard lest the other dragon try to steal her food. Balisong dipped her head. _'It's all right; I'm going to catch my own later. Did you sleep well?'_

'_Well enough,'_ Lifrasir said tersely. _'Have you seen Skandar?'_

'_No. He'll come when the time is right.'_

There was silence between them for a while.

'_You don't trust him, do you?'_ Lifrasir said at last.

'_Of course I do,'_ said Balisong. _'But… I think you were too quick to accept him.'_

'_Balisong, he's our brother. Our blood.'_

'_Yes, but we scarcely know him. He won't say anything about Father, or Mother either, or about where he's been all this time. And the King… what if he poisoned him?'_

Lifrasir raised her head from the deer carcass, teeth bared. Her talons dug into the stone beneath her, cutting through it as if it were made of butter. _'Don't you dare say that.'_

The black dragon backed off hastily, lowering her head to placate her sister. _'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it. But I don't like this. It's too much, too fast. He came here and introduced himself, and you all took his side at once…'_

'_Yes. It was necessary. Who do you trust more, Balisong – our brother, or that woman?'_

'_Skandar, of course. But making him King purely to thwart Nasuada…'_

Lifrasir tore into the dead deer, crushing the bones in her teeth. _'Calm down. No King is permanent. Skandar cannot rule alone; he will need our help to maintain his throne as well as to win it. And besides…'_ she raised her wings slightly, and sighed. _'Look at him when he comes here, Balisong. Take in his scent, listen to the way he speaks. Skandar is everything we could have wished for. You only have to look at him. He is our father come again.'_

'_Yes,'_ Balisong sighed. _'And I wish he would come again. I miss him. Mother, too.'_

Lifrasir softened and nuzzled her sister's shoulder. _'We all do. And I am going to ask Skandar where they are. He must tell us; we are his siblings, after all.'_

'_Yes. He would only tell me they were together and at peace,'_ said Balisong. _'That is not enough. But he will tell us the full story if we insist. And the old King…'_

'_Skandar has our father's cunning,'_ said Lifrasir. _'He can help us discover who the poisoner was. I trust him, and I think he will make a good King.'_

The sisters stood together on the side of the mountain that had become their grandfather's tomb, waiting and watching for their brother to arrive. Around them the rest of their clan ate and groomed, preparing themselves. None of them would admit it, but all of them were nervous. When mid-morning arrived and Skandar had not come, Dreyri suggested they go and find him, but Skirnir advised against it. _'He'll come when he's ready,'_ the silver dragon said, shifting restlessly on his perch at the top of the mountain.

In fact Skandar did not arrive until noon, well after the riders had flown in from Ilirea and stationed themselves in a half-circle in the clearing at the base of the mountain. Skirnir, seeing them, flew down to land opposite them. They were all there, and all dressed in their finest. Murtagh was standing between Carnoc and Jarsha, well away from Nasuada, who stood between Silarae's foreclaws, head held high. Sif and Saphira were beside her; Sif wore a plain blue gown and had an odd, shut-in look on her face.

Nasuada waited while the remains of the Storm Dragon clan came down to form the other half of the circle. Then she stepped forward. 'So,' she said. 'Where is your prince?'

'Right here, my Lady,' said Skandar, appearing behind her without warning.

To her credit, Nasuada recovered herself very quickly. 'You are late,' she said coldly.

Skandar walked silently past her, toward the centre of the ring. 'On the contrary, my Lady,' he said. 'I come when I'm needed.'

Nasuada turned to watch him. Her face had a cold, hard look about it, and as Skandar passed close by her, her sword-hand rose very slightly toward her left shoulder, where the hilt of her weapon protruded. It was only a small gesture, but it was there.

If Skandar noticed it, he didn't show any sign of it. He calmly took his place at the centre of the circle, and then looked pointedly at Nasuada, as if she were somehow intruding. She stared back for a few moments, but then gave in and retreated back to her place in front of Silarae.

Skandar smiled very slightly. 'Well now,' he said. 'Now that everyone is here, I think we can begin.'

'Correct,' said Nasuada. She stepped forward. 'Now, it is my-,'

'-What must be done first is very simple,' said Skandar, cutting across her. 'My friends, the situation is calm now, but it threatens to become dangerous,' he went on, raising his voice and completely ignoring Nasuada. 'It is our responsibility to be decisive in this issue, before word can spread of the King's death, and before anything happens that may create… further tension. I see no need for us to be dishonest with each other; we are all here for a common purpose, and all of us want a secure and peaceful future for the Empire. Therefore, the policy we must observe is honesty.'

There was silence. Nasuada had silently stepped back, and nobody was trying to interrupt. He had their attention now.

Skandar turned slowly to look at each of them in turn. 'I have a simple request to make, in order to settle this issue. Every person here – human or dragon – must speak in turn. Declare your support for me, or come forward and tell us what alternative you have chosen. When we know the balance of this council, we shall be ready to proceed.'

His piece said, Skandar fell silent and waited for their response.

Skirnir was the first to come forward. _'I support you, once again.'_

'_And I,'_ said Lifrasir.

'_And I,'_ said Katana.

Dreyri and Valdyr came forward next, both bowing their heads toward their brother.

Balisong was last. _'I shall have no King but you,'_ she said solemnly.

Skandar turned to look at the riders. 'Now it is your turn,' he said.

There was a silence, while they glanced at each other and the dragons stirred uneasily.

Murtagh coughed and stood up a little straighter. 'I once served your father,' he told Skandar. 'At first I did it unwillingly, but I came to see him as my rightful master and was proud to be at his side. He was as fine a ruler as this land has ever seen.' He paused, bowing his head. 'But I betrayed him, and later I turned against him out of anger. Part of me has always regretted that. Therefore, to make amends for all the wrongs I did him, I support your claim, Prince Skandar.'

Thorn raised his head, growling deep in his throat. _'And I support you also, Skandar Galbatorixson. I am a member of your family as much as Lifrasir and Skirnir are. You are the one with the greatest claim to the throne.'_

Skandar bowed to them. 'Thankyou, Lord Murtagh, and you, Thorn. My father always told me you were a man and a dragon to trust, and now I see he was right.'

Murtagh smiled politely, but everyone there could see he was avoiding looking at Nasuada.

Jarsha was next to come forward. 'I have made my decision too,' he said. 'Skarlath and I talked it over, and we agreed that you were the best choice to rule here.'

Skarlath bowed his green snout. _'We do not want war. Your father kept the peace in this country for a hundred years; we believe that you can do the same.'_

Rose, Carnoc's red dragon, opened her mouth wide in a yawn. _'Carnoc and I have made our decision as well, Prince Skandar.'_ She came forward, her motions graceful, wine-red wings raised. _'For better or worse, for good or for bad, your father never did anything but what he believed was necessary to protect the Empire. He sacrificed all, and he never stopped fighting for what he judged to be right, no matter what others said about him, or what they believed. For the sake of all he did for us, we support you, his son.'_

Carnoc nodded. 'Aye, we do.'

Man and dragon returned to their place, and there was stillness for a few moments, mixed with quiet tension.

Skandar had remained outwardly calm, but he looked warmly at Rose, and at Carnoc. 'Thankyou. A hundred times, thankyou. I will never forget what you have done for me today, or you, Skarlath, or you, Jarsha, or you, Murtagh, Thorn. Now…' he turned to look at Sif and Nasuada. 'And now it is your turn to speak,' he said.

This time Nasuada really did touch the hilt of her sword. 'I have made my own decision, together with Silarae,' she said.

'Speak, then,' said Skandar, but he was not looking at Nasuada. 'Speak and make your intentions plain, my Lady.'

Sif clasped her hands together, unable to look away. Skandar's glittering black eyes were fixed on her, staring straight at her face. She felt her own eyes drawn irresistibly toward his, though she resisted, and they met… and held.

Sif stepped forward. 'I have made my decision,' she said, not looking at her mother.

She heard Nasuada breathe in sharply. 'You have decided-,'

Sif couldn't stay where she was any more. She went forward, into the circle. Every step seemed to take a year, but she didn't care. All she could see was Skandar, standing at the centre. Waiting for her. Her heart was fluttering, and she felt light-headed, as if she were about to faint. But she reached him, and he did not pull away as she took her hand in his.

'I support you,' she said, and as she spoke she took her place by his side and looked straight at her mother, curiously calm. 'I support Prince Skandar. I support…' she turned her head to look straight at him, her nose full of his wild musky scent, feeling his warmth and his wonderful presence, so full of life and power. 'I support you,' she whispered.

Skandar smiled – not the thin, formal smile he had worn before, but a warm, genuine smile, one just for her. 'Thankyou, Sif,' he said.

Sif could feel Saphira's shock. _'Sif, what have you done?'_ the blue dragon hissed.

Sif drew herself up. _'Made my choice,'_ she said defiantly. _'I choose him. I love him, Saphira. I love him truly and dearly.'_

'_Sif, he's Galbatorix's son!'_

'_Yes, I know. And I don't care._ I don't want war,' she said aloud, to everyone. 'I grew up during wartime, and I remember how terrible it was. I never want to see it again, and neither does Skandar, and I shall help him become King so he can make sure that it never happens again.' _And I shall be his Queen,_ she added in the privacy of her own head. _I'll be Queen Sif, I know I will._

Nasuada started forward. 'Sif-!'

Once the sight of her mother's face so consumed with anger would have terrified her, but not now. Sif tightened her grip on Skandar's hand. 'I've made my choice, Mother,' she said. 'I don't care whose son he is. He's the rightful King. Yours, and mine.' As she spoke, she cast an appealing glance at Saphira. _'Please, Saphira. I need you beside me.'_

The blue dragon looked at Silarae, and Nasuada, but finally, reluctantly, she came to stand with her partner.

At that, Nasuada took several steps toward Skandar. 'What have you done?' she demanded, her voice high and strained. 'What have you done to her?'

Skandar didn't move. 'I did nothing,' he said. 'Only told her the truth.'

'What truth?' said Nasuada, looking quickly at Sif.

'That we don't need to be enemies, and that my Kingship is the way toward a better future,' Skandar said smoothly. He gave Sif's hand a squeeze and leaned over to whisper in her ear, _'Thankyou.'_

Sif smiled, her chest full of a wonderful warm certainty. 'Skandar and I are friends, Mother,' she said. _And more than that. _'I have no reason to hate him, and neither do you.'

Nasuada was breathing heavily. Behind her, Silarae dug her talons into the ground, maddened by her partner's emotions.

Skandar, seeing it, let go of Sif's hand and moved toward them. 'Please, my Lady,' he said. 'There is no need to feel threatened. Nobody here is a danger to you, least of all myself.'

Nasuada pulled back. 'Keep away from me,' she hissed.

Skandar stopped. 'Please,' he said again. 'I don't understand. Why the hostility? What have I done?'

The dark-skinned woman was crouching slightly. 'I do not trust you,' she said at last, spitting the words out as if they tasted bad in her mouth. 'I trust you no more than I trusted your father.'

'I am not my father, my Lady,' said Skandar.

'Liar,' said Nasuada. 'You _are_ your father. You look like him, and you speak like him. When I look at you, I see him and nobody else. You are your father's son.'

'My father was a great King,' said Skandar.

'No,' Nasuada was snarling now, her fear finally giving way to open rage. 'No. Your father was a liar and a traitor and a vile human being. He killed the other riders, he killed the elves, he killed my father, he lied and manipulated and used people for his own ends, including me. He forced me to swear loyalty to that monstrous dragon, he threatened to kill me and take my daughter away from me, and he murdered Eragon. He murdered him in front of me, after swearing to set him free.' She spat. 'And he lay with a dragon and fathered _you,_ you thing, you creature, and now you think you can use me as your father did. No, this will not happen. I will not let it happen. You cannot be King; not now, not ever.'

Several people there cried out in shock as she spoke. Skirnir, Lifrasir and their siblings reared up, snarling. Sif was horrified. In all her life she had never seen her mother like this, or heard her say things like what she had just said. It was as if she were hearing a different person use her mother's voice, and seeing them twist her lined face into an expression she would never have worn on her own.

Astonishingly, Skandar was the only person there who appeared unaffected. 'I understand that you have… grudges against my father,' he said. 'However, under the circumstances, I'm willing to forgive you for saying so.'

'I oppose you,' Nasuada said again.

'Why?' said Skandar, quite calm.

'I do not trust you. You poisoned the King.'

'I think we have established that I didn't,' said Skandar. 'In fact, I have every right to accuse _you,_ my Lady.'

Nasuada jerked violently, as if he had slapped her. 'How dare you?' she screeched. 'How _dare_ you?'

'Let us be honest, my Lady,' Skandar said sharply. 'Of the two of us, I am not the one who has committed high treason, and nor am I the one who led a rebellion against my rightful ruler. In fact, I would say that you are the one here with the most experience in rebellion and treachery. And now the King is dead you are seeking to have yourself made ruler in his place. It must have been so _frustrating_ when I came along to get in the way.'

Nasuada had stilled slightly. 'I did not poison the King,' she said stiffly. 'I was bound by unbreakable oaths that would stop me from harming him or his family.'

'And I am bound as well,' said Skandar. 'But by blood, and that is something far stronger than any oath you may have taken, my Lady. I did not come here to fight, or to kill. I am here to help.'

Still, Nasuada shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'I will not support you. The riders must rule themselves.'

'And you will be the one doing the ruling,' said Skandar. It wasn't a question.

'The leader of the riders shall be chosen by them from among their own,' said Nasuada.

'Correct,' said Skandar. 'And you have just seen them choose.'

'You are not a rider,' said Nasuada.

Skandar shrugged. 'Man and dragon combined; what difference does it make? I am sorry, my Lady, but there is nothing you can do.'

Nasuada was silent for a time. 'My father died to remove yours from the throne,' she said. 'Hundreds of brave men and women did the same. I refuse to let their sacrifice be an empty one by placing you on the throne. And why should I? What reason have you given us to trust you?'

'What reason do you have to distrust me?' said Skandar.

'Your father,' said Nasuada.

'My father's lies are not mine,' said Skandar.

'I didn't say they were,' said Nasuada. 'But even so… I can't trust you. I don't know you; none of us do.'

'Well, if you want to know me, ask,' said Skandar.

'Your father,' said Nasuada. 'Where is he?'

'I told you before, my Lady,' said Skandar. 'My father is not in Alagaësia any more. He and my mother left and they will not return.'

'That's not good enough,' said Nasuada. 'Where is he? Why are you so certain that he will not come back?'

'I prefer not to talk about it,' said Skandar. His voice had become flat and distant.

'I don't care what you prefer,' said Nasuada. 'We have the right to know. Your _siblings,_ at the very least, should be told.'

'_That is true, Skandar,' _Skirnir said gently.

'What does it matter?' said Skandar, in sullen tones that made him sound his sixteen years. 'He is not coming back.'

'I trust your father even less than I trust you, weredragon,' said Nasuada. 'For all I know, you could be him.'

'What?' said Murtagh. 'Nasuada, don't be ridiculous.'

'Galbatorix was a master of disguise,' said Nasuada, unmoved. 'He wore magical masks, used false names. You read the accounts just as I did, Murtagh. When he attacked Ellesméra, he infiltrated it himself beforehand, disguised as an elf.' She turned to look accusingly at Skandar. 'If you are him, it's a poor disguise.'

Skandar turned away. 'You were being irrational; now you're babbling. Kindly stop wasting my time, Lady Nasuada.'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'You will tell us the truth. Now.'

There was silence. Skandar did not move.

Lifrasir lowered her head toward him. _'Please,'_ she said. _'Just tell us. We want to know if he is well, and Mother too. We love him.'_

'Tell us,' said Nasuada. 'Where is your father?'

'My father is dead.' It was said said it so quietly that most of those listening couldn't hear.

'What?' said Nasuada.

Skandar turned around sharply. 'My father is dead,' he rasped again.

Nasuada had not been prepared for this. She gaped at him. '…dead…?'

Skandar advanced on her, teeth bared, his smooth exterior finally beginning to break down. 'My father is dead,' he said, his accent sharpening as anger made it rise. 'And my mother as well. Is that what ye wanted to hear, my Lady? Does it make ye happy to know the man ye hate so lies dead?' He halted. 'I beg ye tell me,' he sneered.

Everyone there had drawn back slightly, shock written all over their faces.

Skirnir came forward. _'No,'_ he said. _'Skandar, no. Tell me it's not true.'_

'It's true,' said Skandar, not looking away from Nasuada. 'Aye, true,' he added, jabbing a finger at her. 'And what say ye, now, my Lady? Does it calm ye to know?'

Nasuada's anger had vanished, to be replaced with bewilderment. 'I don't… dead? But how? What happened?'

Skandar's sneer faded. 'I don't… he didn't live long after he left this land,' he said quietly, his normal mode of speech returning. 'Neither of them did. We travelled over the Icelands, the four of us together… him and my mother, and Laela, and me. We crossed them, and then we flew over the sea to a different land. It was called Tara. We travelled through it, looking for a new place to live… but my father died only a week or so later, and my mother a day later.'

'How?' said Murtagh. 'How…?'

'He was already dying when he left here,' said Skandar. 'The fight with the Shade had poisoned his mind. I saw it…' his voice was toneless, as if he were talking about someone he had never met, had never known. 'It destroyed him from the inside out. He stopped sleeping first; he didn't need to any more. And when he did sleep, he did things in his sleep without knowing it. So he stayed awake. And then he lost his memory. Piece by piece, every day a little more, until he couldn't remember who I was, or Mother, or Laela. He forgot his own name. We did everything; tried everything. Mother wanted him to come back here, to ask for you help, but he said no. Nothing could make him turn back, nothing. He was obsessed. All he wanted to do was get away, find a different place to live… even when his hands started shaking and he knew he was dying.' Skandar rubbed his own hands over his face. 'And then he died,' he said at last. 'And my mother died the next day, from cold and starvation. I was ten years old, but I remember. I buried them together in the snow, side by side.'

Silence; deep, dark, terrible silence.

'_And Laela?'_ Lifrasir whispered. _'What happened to her?'_

Skandar appeared to shake himself back to the present. 'I don't know. When my father died she went insane and flew away. I never saw her again.'

Sif had heard every word. She stared at Skandar, full of bewilderment. Galbatorix was dead. Him and his Queen, both gone forever. Once the knowledge would have pleased her, but now she didn't know what she felt. She watched Skandar, and thought he looked so small and vulnerable standing there. She wanted to run to him and put her arms around him, but something held her back, and she stood there, doing nothing, feeling stupid and useless. She realised that there was a lump in her throat.

Nasuada was the one to break the silence. 'I am… sorry, Skandar.'

Skandar turned on her, so quickly and violently that Silarae reared up, baring her teeth in readiness for a fight. 'No,' he snarled. 'You've said enough, my Lady, more than enough. Ye have made it plain that ye hated my father, and that ye hate me also for being his son, and if ye be enemy to him, then ye be enemy to me.' He was growling now; a true, dragon growl. Sif thought she could see the faint pattern of scales moving over his skin as he faced Nasuada down, teeth bared. 'I warn ye now, my Lady, and I warn ye true: if ye fail to prove that ye wish to reconcile, and give me the throne ye forced my father to abandon, then I shall fight ye.'

The circle was breaking up now; others were coming forward, some to restrain Nasuada, others to try and calm Skandar down.

The weredragon drew himself up regally, as his father might have done. 'I give ye two days, my Lady,' he said. 'After that, I warn ye to be ready to fight.'


	14. Behind the Crimson Door

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Behind the Crimson Door**

The meeting didn't last long after that. Skandar, having made his threat and apparently deciding things had gone too far, coldly bid them all goodbye and vanished back into the forest without another word. Skirnir called for him to come back, but he didn't return, and the others, slowly reaching the conclusion that the council was over for now, began to disperse. Skandar had left an atmosphere of powerful unease behind him, and nobody seemed inclined to talk to anybody else. Skirnir flew away in silence, his family not far behind him, and the riders began to return to the city.

Sif passed the flight in silence, though part of her wanted to speak to Saphira. She had thought of staying behind, to look for Skandar, but the look on her mother's face had stopped her. Now he was gone and she was on her own again her strange certainty had gone, and she was full of a deep and inexplicable sense of shame. She tried to hide it from Saphira, but it was pointless; the blue dragon absorbed the emotion at once, though she said nothing, and the only emotion she sent back was anxiety.

They didn't land immediately when they reached Ilirea; the roost was too small for every dragon to land at the same time. Saphira circled overhead, waiting while Thorn and Skarlath landed and their riders dismounted. Rose was next, and then Silarae. By now Murtagh, Carnoc and Jarsha had gone below, and Saphira began her descent.

'_No, don't,'_ said Sif. _'I want to stay away from her for a while.'_

Saphira gave no reply. She folded her wings and dropped out of the sky, and Sif lurched slightly as she landed on the roost and stumbled forward a short distance. Once they had stopped she crouched low and waited for Sif to dismount.

Sif started to undo the leg-straps, but as she did she looked up and her stomach lurched. Nasuada was still there, standing by Silarae's flank and waiting for her.

There was nothing she could do. Sif undid the straps and slid down off Saphira's back. Her heart pounded sickeningly as her feet hit the stonework, and she stumbled slightly.

Nasuada didn't wait for her to recover herself. She strode toward her and seized her by the arm, wrenching her forward.

Sif cried out. 'Mother! Don't!'

'Listen to me,' Nasuada snapped. When Sif tried to pull away she increased her grip, shaking her hard. 'Listen!'

Sif could feel tears threatening to come, but she made herself look her mother in the face.

Nasuada's own face was terrible to look at. 'You're going to stay away from him, Sif. I mean it.'

'I won't!' She had meant it to be a vehement retort, but it came out high and strained.

Nasuada shook her again, harder. 'Don't you _dare._ You are not a little girl; you are a noble, and a dragon-rider. It's your duty to the realm to be responsible.'

'I _am_ being responsible!' said Sif, still unable to keep the whine out of her voice. 'I didn't argue with him, you did!'

'The man is a liar and a poisoner,' said Nasuada. 'I will not have you near him, understand?'

Sif finally managed to free her arm. 'He is not!' she shouted. 'He's a prince, and he's the rightful King, and I love him.'

Nasuada slapped her.

Sif backed away, shocked, her hand rising to touch her stinging cheek. Behind her, Saphira shifted slightly. _'Saphira, do something!'_

The blue dragon stood up, but then she moved backward, away from them. _'No.'_

Sif turned to look at her. _'Saphira-!'_

'_No,' _Saphira said again.

Sif heard something behind her, and turned back to look, and it felt as if someone had hit her.

Her mother was crying.

Sif took a few steps toward her. 'Mother-,'

Nasuada's head was bowed, but she looked up, face wet with tears. 'How could you?' she said. 'Sif, how _could_ you?'

Sif went to her. 'Mother, please, don't cry. I'm sorry.'

Nasuada reached out to touch her face, where a red mark was appearing on her cheek from the slap. 'Sif, you're my daughter. My only daughter. _Eragon's_ daughter. What's become of you? How did this happen?'

Sif couldn't look her in the eye. 'I can't help it, Mother,' she said. 'I love him. I love him as you loved Father.'

Pure misery showed in Nasuada's face, and she turned away, sobbing softly.

Sif took her by the shoulder and embraced her. 'Please, don't. Listen, Mother, please.'

Nasuada said nothing. She let Sif hold her, her thin, battle-hardened body shaking slightly. Sif held her close, with the odd thought that it had been a long time since she had hugged her mother like this. Normally it was Nasuada who would hold her, when she needed comforting. But now it was her mother who needed her.

Somehow, the knowledge gave her strength. 'Mother, it's all right,' she said. 'It's going to be all right. Listen. Skandar's my friend. I know him; what's inside him. He's a good man; clever and kind and brave. He's not like his father. He doesn't kill people.'

Nasuada said nothing, but Sif's words did not seem to comfort her, and she cried all the harder.

'Listen, Mother, I can make it all right,' said Sif. 'I'm going to marry him; he told me so. I'll be his Queen, and I'll protect you and everyone else in the land.'

Nasuada pulled away. 'No, Sif, no. You must not. He isn't human, and he's dangerous. Now that he's come… bad things will come with him.'

That was when Sif realised. _She's afraid of him,_ she thought blankly. 'They won't,' she said. 'I know they won't. I'm going to talk to him. I'll go and find him later, and I'll talk… he listens to me. I'll tell him to speak with you again and be kinder to you, so you won't be enemies. I'll make it so he doesn't fight you; I swear.'

Nasuada was silent for a time. 'You're a good girl, Sif,' she said at last, her voice quiet and husky. 'You do know that, don't you?'

'I just don't want anything bad to happen,' said Sif. 'Not to you, or Skandar, or anyone.'

Nasuada sighed. 'Yes. I'm sorry I hit you; I shouldn't have.' She took her by the hand, her grip gentle now. 'Let's go inside and have something to eat.'

Sif nodded gladly. 'Yes, I'm hungry.' She grinned to herself. 'Do you think we could have deer?'

Her mother laughed, a little shakily. 'I'm sure it can be arranged.'

The two of them walked toward the open trapdoor, hand in hand. Sif felt full of a kind of fragile happiness, and her natural optimism helped make it stronger. But once Nasuada had gone down the ladder and she turned to follow, she shot a deadly glare at Saphira. She stared back.

Nasuada and Sif made for the dining hall, and found the others already there. Food had been laid out, and they had just begun eating it, but stopped when the two riders entered.

Nasuada took her accustomed place beside Murtagh, but ignored him as she helped herself to soup and roast pheasant. For his part, Murtagh kept glancing awkwardly at her as if he wanted to speak, but remained silent and returned to his food. Sif, seated on her mother's other side, watched them unhappily. There had been tension between them ever since Ravana's death, but Skandar's appearance had escalated it into open conflict. She'd seen and heard them argue several times over the last day or so, and the previous night had been the worst of all, and had ended when Nasuada stormed out and locked herself in her study for hours. Sif, full of fear and unhappiness, had taken the opportunity to slip out of the castle and go looking for Skandar, not knowing what she would do when she found him, or whether she would have the courage to kill him. Even then the idea had felt wrong, and she felt ashamed of it now. She was no killer, and nor did she want to be.

Her unhappiness returned at the sight of her mother and stepfather and the silence between them, and she briefly considered leaving, but the sight and smell of food held her back. She took a generous helping and bit into it, wishing she could say something to make them reconcile. She wished Skandar was there.

Eventually, Murtagh was the one to break the silence. He finished cleaning his bowl with a piece of bread, and pushed it away. 'I… uh… the others and I have decided to go down to the crypts this afternoon,' he said, not looking at Nasuada.

Nasuada stirred. 'Why?'

Murtagh finally looked her in the face. 'I've… found the missing slab,' he said, speaking slowly and carefully. 'From the K- from Galbatorix's tomb. We're going to go down there and seal it after lunch. I know the spell.'

Nasuada tensed slightly. 'To pay your respects?'

'To lay the past to rest,' Murtagh said calmly. 'He's dead now, Nasuada. Dead and buried. He can't hurt you any more.' He dared to touch her hand. 'You should come with us. It would be… good for you.'

Nasuada stared at his hand. 'I… can't. I mean I don't want to.'

'It won't hurt you, Nasuada,' said Murtagh. 'It's time to put the past behind you, so we can move on. Galbatorix is dead, and we can let old wounds and hatreds die with him.'

'And make his son our King,' Nasuada said flatly.

'You know we have no other choice,' said Murtagh. 'The dragons will never let us return to the old ways, you know that as well as I do. The boy will be King, and we will guide him and teach him. We can make him a great ruler, if we work together. And if he proves himself to be unfit, then perhaps the dragons will change their minds.'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'We can't. We _can't.'_

'We must.' Murtagh gave her a sorrowful look. 'Nasuada, if life has taught me anything it's that duty comes before our feelings. I'm not proud of everything I've done in my life, but I accept it. We rule Alagaësia now, and we must remember to put the people before ourselves, no matter what it costs us. Galbatorix taught me that. He taught us all that.'

Nasuada sighed. 'I understand, Murtagh. But I need to be alone for a while. I need to think.' She stood up. 'Go to the crypts without me. I'll join you later, maybe.'

Sif looked at her. 'What should I do?'

'Go with them, if you want to,' said Nasuada. 'I have to go and check on Eragon. I've left him on his own too much recently.'

Murtagh stood too. 'Go to him, then,' he said. He embraced her lightly and kissed her on the cheek. 'I love you, Nasuada, and I trust you. You know that, don't you?'

She smiled a little. 'Of course I do, Murtagh.' She kissed him back, on the forehead, and left the room, head bowed.

Murtagh watched her go, and sighed once the door had closed behind her. 'Well,' he said, turning back to look at the others. 'If you've all finished eating, we should probably go now.'

Sif gulped down the last of her pheasant, and wiped her hands clean on the tablecloth. 'I'm ready.'

Murtagh smiled at her. 'Are you all right, Sif?'

She gave him a blank look. 'What do you mean?'

'Oh.' He looked a little embarrassed. 'Well, things didn't go as well as they might have today… I just thought you might be upset.'

'No, I'm fine,' said Sif.

'Tough little thing, aren't you?' said Carnoc, grinning. 'Like your mother.'

They left the dining hall together, and Sif fell in beside her stepfather. 'Shouldn't Skandar be there?' she asked. 'If we're going to give the ceremony for his father…'

'Yes, perhaps he should,' said Murtagh. 'But I doubt he would want to come… he looked very upset after the meeting.'

'Upset?' Sif was a little startled. Skandar had looked perfectly calm to her, though angry.

'Yes,' said Murtagh. 'Perhaps it wasn't obvious to you, but I knew his father very well. He was difficult to read, but I could tell when he was upset about something. I've always had a gift for reading people,' he added modestly.

'Could you teach me how?' said Sif.

'Of course. Either way…' Murtagh turned right and led the way down a flight of stairs, 'I think he would rather avoid being with us for the time being. After what your mother said to him, I was amazed that he didn't lash out at her.'

'It was horrible,' said Sif. 'I never knew she could be like that.'

'Yes, well-,' Murtagh paused to negotiate a broken step, '-it's only to be expected. She saw his father kill yours, and it's haunted her ever since. She has nightmares about it; I've heard her crying out in her sleep. And Skandar looks so much like him… Nasuada can't help but see him as his father and feel the same way toward him. People aren't always rational, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' said Sif, thinking of her own reaction on their first meeting.

They reached the door to the crypt, and Murtagh opened it. _'Ljós!'_

Sif stepped down into the gloom, following the ruby-coloured glow. 'Murtagh, do you think Mother will change her mind? Will she let Skandar be King?'

'I hope so, Sif,' said Murtagh. 'Because if she doesn't…'

His hesitation made her chest tighten instantly. 'There won't be war, will there?'

'I don't know. I don't think so,' Murtagh added hastily. 'But if Skandar is as much like his father as he seems…'

'Then what?' said Sif.

'Galbatorix was ruthless,' said Murtagh. 'And when he had to be, he was deadly.'

Nasuada made for her son's room, walking slowly. Dragon-riders aged more slowly than ordinary humans, but they aged nonetheless, and these days her knees tended to ache. The distance between the nursery and the dining hall was far too great, she thought, not for the first time. It was high time she had it moved.

'_Nasuada?'_ Silarae's voice was soft, as always. _'Where are you going?'_

Nasuada sighed. _'To see my son,'_ she said briefly. _'He must be missing me.'_

'_You aren't going to see the tomb sealed?'_

'_No. You know about that?'_

'_Yes, Saphira told me. She's very unhappy.'_

'_What about?'_ said Nasuada.

'_She's unhappy about Sif,'_ said Silarae. _'Or unhappy _with_ her, which is the same thing in a way.'_

'_Why? Because of what she did today?'_

'_Yes. She gave Skandar her support, and more than that. She's in love with him. Very much so, Saphira says.'_

'_She's silly,'_ Nasuada said sharply. _'It's a girlish obsession; she'll get over it.'_

'_Perhaps.'_ Silarae sounded apprehensive. _'How much has she told you?'_

'_That she loves him and believes he'll make her his queen,'_ said Nasuada. She paused to massage her aching knees. _'That bastard must have made promises… told her what she wanted to hear, to win her to his side.'_

'_She hasn't told you…?'_

'_Told me what?'_ Nasuada paused. She didn't like the tone in her partner's voice.

'_Told you that they kissed,'_ said Silarae. _'In Gil'ead, before she knew who he was.'_

Nasuada jerked. _'What? They didn't – Silarae, for gods' sakes, tell me she didn't-,'_

'_No, no,'_ Silarae said hastily. _'No, not that. He pushed her away, told her the time was wrong. He didn't spurn her, but he kept his distance.'_

She relaxed a little. _'So the weredragon has some honour at least. What does Saphira think of all this?'_

'_She disapproves,'_ said Silarae. _'Very strongly. She thinks Skandar is untrustworthy, and believes he will break Sif's heart. She believes he doesn't have any true affection for her, and only wants to use her for his own ends. That is why she did nothing when you made it clear you were angry with her.'_

That gave Nasuada some comfort. _'Good,'_ she muttered. _'Saphira will keep her away from him. She always was more sensible than Sif. I trust her to look after her.'_

'_You should,'_ Silarae said warmly. _'She would die rather than let her be harmed.'_

Nasuada sighed and strode on down the passage, feeling a little more confident now. But the thought of her daughter, alone with Skandar… the thought of her kissing him, filled her with revulsion. She had seen the look he had given her over Sif's shoulder, when he leaned over to whisper in her ear. He was nearly impossible to read, like his father, but Nasuada was convinced that she had seen a hint of cruel triumph in those glittering eyes. Her stomach twisted. _You won't be King,_ she thought. _Not while I'm alive._

The door to the nursery was ajar. She pushed it open and went in. 'Hello, Eragon! Mama's here now-,'

The room's other occupant stood up. 'Hello, my Lady,' he said.

Nasuada went rigid. He was holding Eragon, cradling the child in one arm. Very carefully, she closed the door. 'What are you doing here?'

'Lock the door,' he answered. 'I don't want us disturbed.'

Nasuada took a few steps toward him. 'Put him down-,'

'I suggest you stop there, my Lady,' he said smoothly. 'For his benefit, if not yours.'

Her hand went to her sword-hilt. 'Put him down! _Now.'_

As if by magic, a short silver dagger appeared in his free hand. He raised it, touching the point to Eragon's throat. 'Lock the door,' he said again, voice low. 'Lock it now, or I will kill him.'

Nasuada had gone cold all over. 'No! For gods' sakes, don't hurt him!'

'Do it,' he rasped, lifting the knife slightly. 'Now.'

She obeyed, muttering the locking spell in an urgent undertone. 'It's done. Now put him down.'

'No.' His eyes narrowed. 'You must take an oath first. Speak it in the ancient language.'

Nasuada shifted carefully, placing her feet well apart to balance herself. 'What oath?'

'Swear you will not attack, or flee, or call for help,' he said. 'Swear it in the ancient language.'

'No. Put him down! He's a baby, for gods' sakes, how could you?'

He pressed down with the knife, digging the point into Eragon's throat until blood appeared on the child's dark skin. 'I mean it,' he said. 'The brat's life means nothing to me. One stroke with this knife will tear his throat open. He will bleed to death in a heartbeat. Swear the oath, or watch him die.'

There was a roaring in Nasuada's ears. Terror filled her, making her feel light-headed. She tried to call to Silarae, but something was stopping her, as if there were a mental wall between them. All she could see was her son, screaming and reaching out for her, needing her. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, don't.'

The knife pressed down harder, until more blood stained the blade. 'Take the oath. If I press any harder, he will be dead.'

From somewhere far away, barely audible through the roaring in her ears, she heard her own voice – flat and dead, stumbling over the ancient words. _'Sjá kona vili hvárgi sókn flyja.'_

He grinned horribly. 'There. That was not difficult, was it?'

'Now let him go,' Nasuada whispered.

He did not, but he withdrew the knife. 'I want you to know this,' he said. 'I want you to know, before it ends. What I do is for honour, and for vengeance. You betrayed my father, and my mother, and you betrayed me. I am doing this not for myself, but for them.'

'No,' said Nasuada. 'I didn't do anything, you don't understand-!'

The eyes widened, face twisting into a vile mask of hatred. 'Hope that the guardians of the underworld believe you, my Lady,' he said, and brought his arm down with a quick, savage motion. Blood spurted over his robe, and Eragon's cries suddenly ceased.

That was when Nasuada finally screamed. _'NO!'_

Down in the crypts, Sif watched in silence as Murtagh and Carnoc manhandled the stone slab into place. One corner was chipped, but it fitted neatly into the hole carved for it long ago. Once it was in place the two men stepped back to examine the completed carving. The image of the boy stood tall and proud, his curly hair tumbling elegantly down over his ears. His blank eyes stared straight ahead and his mouth was set into a faint, secretive smile. Beside him his dragon stood with one forepaw raised, her mouth slightly open in a dragonish grin.

'"Arren Cardockson",' Murtagh read aloud. 'His old name. But somehow…' he reached out toward the stone and intoned a string of words. Red light glowed beneath the words, and when it died away a fresh line of lettering had appeared. _Galbatorix Taranisäii_. 'There,' said Murtagh in satisfied tones. 'Both his names.'

'You left off the King part,' said Carnoc.

'Oh.' Murtagh paused, and shrugged. 'I'm sure he wouldn't have minded. A man is more than his titles and his station in life. Now…' he glanced at the others. 'Does anyone want to say anything before I seal it?'

There was silence.

'He was a good King,' Carnoc said at last.

'He was a brave man,' said Jarsha.

'He was kind to me,' Sif said softly. 'He made me a rider.'

Murtagh smiled sadly. 'He was a good King,' he echoed. He turned toward the tomb, and began. 'In life, as in death, let this man be remembered. Galbatorix, son of Skandar, born in-,'

'_SIF!'_

Saphira's scream tore through Sif's mind, so loud and bringing with it such panic that she started violently, while around her the others reeled.

Sif staggered sideways and hit the wall. _'Saphira? Saphira!'_

'_Sif! For gods' sakes, it's Silarae, she's hurt, she's-,'_

Sif straightened up. _'What? What's going on?'_

Pain jumped over their link. _'Your mother!' _Saphira roared. _'Sif, your mother, go to her, go now! RUN!'_

Murtagh was already up and running out of the crypt as fast as he could, Carnoc and Jarsha on his heels. Sif sprinted after them, full of Saphira's reflected terror. More pain came to her, and then the ground shook as an almighty _thud_ came from above. Unseen in the dark behind the fleeing riders, the slab fell out of its place on the tomb. It hit the ground, and shattered into pieces.

Sif ran, staggering on the stairs. In spite of his advanced years Murtagh had already drawn ahead of her, and he reached the nursery before her, and before the others.

When Sif arrived, gasping for breath, heart thudding, she saw the door was open and Murtagh had already gone inside, along with Carnoc and Jarsha. She reached out to push it open, but then Murtagh abruptly reappeared, nearly knocking her over. He paid no attention to her, and staggered to the opposite wall, leaning on it.

Sif glanced at the door before she went to him. 'Murtagh…?'

Her stepfather was breathing hard, his shoulders heaving. He didn't seem to see or hear her.

Sif turned to look at the door. 'Is Mother in there…?' When Murtagh said nothing, she screwed up her courage and took a few steps toward it, reaching out to touch it.

Murtagh grabbed her shoulder from behind. 'No,' he said hoarsely. 'No, Sif. Don't go in there.'

Something in his voice put ice into her veins. But she had to know. She pulled away from him and stepped forward. The door swung open easily when she pushed it, and she went in, and after that everything turned into a dream.

Carnoc was there. He had sunk into a chair and was sitting there, head in his hands. Jarsha was there too, collapsed in a corner and sobbing uncontrollably.

She saw Eragon first. The child lay near the window, curled up on his side. There was blood on him, and more had pooled on the floor beneath him.

Nasuada was in the middle of the floor, lying on her back. Her eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling, and her sword lay near her hand. There was a strange rigidity about her face, as if it were a mask made from flesh. Under her chin there was a savage wound where something had torn out her throat.

Sif never did remember what happened after that, or knew how long she stood there and stared at them both. A sense of powerful unreality had come over her, and an emptiness. She felt nothing, said nothing. Nor did she remember leaving the room, but she remembered seeing the door. There was a bloodstain on it, level with her hand, and something had left a row of four deep gashes in the frame.

Murtagh was still there, in the corridor, his face deathly white, but the sight of Sif seemed to give him the will to move again. He said nothing, only turned and began to stride away along the corridor, heading straight for the dragon roost. Sif watched him go, not knowing what to say or do. She wanted to wake up, but the dream would not end. It was real, and she was trapped in it.

'_Sif.'_

Sif stared at nothing, unable to reply.

'_Sif,'_ Saphira said again. _'Sif… Silarae's dead.'_


	15. Beyond Redemption

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Beyond Redemption**

Thorn was ready when Murtagh arrived on the roost. The red dragon crouched while his saddle was strapped on, and the instant Murtagh was in the saddle he launched himself into the air. As the two of them flew away from the castle they could see Silarae's body lying crumpled among the stones of the wall that had broken her fall. She was dead.

Neither of them said a word, and neither was it necessary. Thorn flew straight for the King's wood. The sun was lowering toward the horizon. Soon it would set.

Thorn reached the wood and circled over it like a falcon. Searching.

'_Look there,'_ he said eventually. _'There, near the mountain.'_ Without waiting for a reply he sent Murtagh an image of it. It was a thin plume of smoke, rising out of the trees.

'_Go in,'_ Murtagh said immediately. _'Land well away from it. We'll go in on foot.'_

Thorn gave a mental nod and flew in low, keeping his wings rigid for silence. He landed in a clear spot not far from the mountain, and Murtagh dismounted and drew his sword.

Saying nothing, moving stealthily, he walked off straight toward the smoke. Thorn followed at a safe distance, all his senses alert. The light was dim among the trees, but he saw well enough.

Murtagh gripped Zar'roc tightly in his left hand, right hand raised ready to unleash his magic. If anyone or anything surprised him, it would be dead in seconds. _'Did you tell the others to be ready?'_ he asked, keeping his mental voice low out of pure habit.

'_Yes. The guards have been summoned. Rose is coming after us; she'll be here soon. Skarlath is waiting on the roost with Jarsha.'_

'_Good.'_

Murtagh fell silent. Up ahead, he could see the orange glow of a fire. The trees thickened here, and Thorn stopped and let him go ahead. He walked on without pausing, moving from tree to tree until he was at the very edge of the clearing that held Skandar's camp.

He knew he had come to the right place the instant he saw it. The fire was burning in a ring of stones, and a spit had been built over it. The remains of a deer carcass were lying beside it, and there was a spare robe hanging from a tree. But there was no sign of Skandar.

Murtagh hesitated for a long time before he entered the clearing, expecting to be attacked at any moment. But nothing happened, and he relaxed and began to scan the area, searching. The camp appeared deserted, and he cursed under his breath. Of course he'd had more sense than to come back here. He must be hiding somewhere now, or perhaps he had fled to the Spine.

'_Have you found anything?'_ Thorn asked eventually.

Murtagh sighed. _'Here's not here. Gods damn it.'_

There was a muffled thud and the sound of breaking wood as the red dragon shouldered his way between the trees, forcing a way through until he was close enough to see the clearing. He stopped there.

'Well,' Murtagh said aloud. 'There's not-,'

'_Quiet!'_

Murtagh fell silent at once, tensing.

Thorn's nostrils flared as he scented the air, head turning slowly. He stopped and lifted his snout to fix Murtagh with a stare. _'He's here.'_

Murtagh gripped his sword. _'Where?'_

'_Look up,'_ said Thorn.

Murtagh did, instinctively taking several steps back and raising Zar'roc. He cursed himself as he did; he hadn't thought to check the trees. Sure enough, when he followed Thorn's gaze, he saw the dark shape perched on a branch just over his head. It wasn't moving.

Murtagh edged a little closer, until he could see properly. Skandar was huddled against the tree-trunk, with White Violence hanging beside him from the stub of a broken branch. He was asleep, head resting on his chest.

Murtagh's eyes narrowed. He raised his hand, pointing the palm straight at him, and muttered the words of a spell. Red light glowed around Skandar, and the weredragon convulsed suddenly, his body stiffening. He fell from the tree, landing with a thud among a heap of dead leaves, and Murtagh heard him cry out in alarm. He strode over to him, shifting Zar'roc to his right hand, and thrust the point into Skandar's throat, holding it there.

Skandar stared up at him, his face full of bewilderment. 'Murtagh? What's going on?' he twitched slightly and tried to get up. 'What's wrong with me? What have you done?'

Murtagh snarled. He put Zar'roc back into its sheath and hauled Skandar to his feet. 'I've got you now,' he spat. 'You're not going to use any of your magic on me.'

Skandar struggled. 'What are you doing? Put me down!'

There were shouts from among the trees, and Carnoc appeared, running, sword in hand. 'Murtagh! Are you all right?'

Murtagh took Skandar by the wrists, pinning them together. 'Have you got some rope?'

Carnoc reached him. 'No, take these.'

It was a pair of manacles. Skandar stared in shock as Murtagh snapped them shut around his wrists. 'Murtagh, what are you doing? What's going on? You can't do this! This is treason!'

Murtagh finally snapped and hit him. 'Shut your mouth, half-breed.'

Skandar was strong, but Murtagh far outweighed him. He took the weredragon by the shoulder and dragged him to where Thorn waited. The red dragon crouched low and Murtagh threw his captive over the saddle and climbed up behind him.

Thorn lumbered away back toward the mountain, and took to the air as soon as he was in the open, moving hastily lest he be spotted by Skirnir's clan. But it seemed the wild dragons were elsewhere, for the red dragon flew back toward Ilirea without incident.

When he landed on the roost, a group of guards were there waiting. Murtagh pushed Skandar off Thorn's back so that he landed at their feet. 'Take him to the dungeon.'

Sif was at the foot of the ladder when the guards arrived, dragging Skandar with them. She saw him as they took him by the shoulders and began to march him off, saw the bewilderment and terror on his face.

She ran after them. 'Stop! What are you doing?'

Murtagh appeared behind her. 'Leave them alone, Sif. They're acting on my orders.'

'But-,'

'I mean it,' Murtagh snapped. 'He's a murderer.'

Sif ran at the guards, panic-stricken, reaching for Skandar. 'No! For gods' sakes, no!'

Skandar heard her. He began to struggle against the guards, trying to get at her. 'Sif, please! Please, help me!'

The struggle looked unequal; the guards were heavily armoured, and all of them were larger than Skandar. But the weredragon was stronger than he looked. He shook them off and rushed straight at Sif, grabbing her by the arm.

Murtagh ran at them. 'NO!'

Skandar took Sif by the shoulders. 'Please, don't let them take me, I haven't done anything. Please, Sif!'

Sif drew back, suddenly afraid. 'Skandar-,'

The guards grabbed him from behind, trying to pull him away. 'Please, Sif,' he said desperately. 'I love you.' Then, without warning, he lunged forward and kissed her.

The moment was over in seconds. Murtagh pulled Sif away from him and hit Skandar in the face, so hard that his head snapped back. Before he could recover the guards were on him, dragging him away. He went with them, fighting every step of the way, his voice rising out of their midst. 'Sif! Please, Sif! Help me! _Sif!'_

Sif couldn't bear to watch. She turned away and didn't turn back until he was gone and she found herself all alone in the corridor. Her arm hurt where he had grabbed her, and as she touched it with her other hand a weakness suddenly came over her. She staggered toward the wall, hit it and slid down it to the floor, overcome with sobs so deep and racking they hurt.

'_Sif.'_ Saphira's voice was low and curiously distant.

Sif's own mental voice was uncontrolled; mad and babbling. _'Saphira, they've got him. They've got Skandar, they've… he's… he wasn't… didn't…'_

There was silence for a time, just briefly, and then Saphira responded; sending a wave of emotion straight at her, as if it were a weapon – a feeling of cold, terrible contempt and fury. _'He killed your mother,'_ she said. _'He killed her, and your brother, and Silarae. And it's your fault.'_

The rest of that day was a nightmare for Sif. She locked herself away in her room and stayed there, huddled in a corner. She sat like that for a long time, wanting to stay there and never leave again. After a while, tentatively, she tried to contact Saphira, but the blue dragon's mind was closed to her. She cried again then, and didn't stop for a long time.

A knock on the door finally brought her out of it.

'Sif?'

Sif looked up, red-eyed. The room had gone dark, and she wondered vaguely when it had happened and whether it was night already. She had lost track of time.

Another knock. 'Sif?' Jarsha's voice. 'Sif, are you all right?'

Sif got up and walked rather stiffly toward the door. She made several unsuccessful attempts to open it before she remembered the locking spell, and hastily undid it. Jarsha was waiting outside. He looked miserable and was still wearing his ceremonial outfit. There was a small bloodstain on the sleeve.

'I've just been…' he trailed off. 'Are you all right?'

Sif looked blankly at him for a moment, and then something inside her crumbled and she flung herself at him. He held her tightly, trying to soothe her, but his touch made her think of Skandar and wish that it was him holding her. Still, she didn't pull away from him. But she didn't cry.

'We're going down to the crypts again,' Jarsha told her at last. 'To… prepare. You don't have to come yet unless you want to.'

Sif let go of him. 'No,' she said sharply, too sharply. 'I'll stay… where's Murtagh?'

Jarsha hesitated, and a strange fear hit her. She backed away from him, hands clenched. 'Where is he?' she said. 'Where's Murtagh? _Where's Skandar?_ What are they doing to him?'

'Nothing,' said Jarsha. Too fast. 'No, Sif, please, don't do anything silly. He's fine.'

'Has Murtagh let him go?'

'No. Not yet. Sif-!'

The fear and uncertainty behind Jarsha's words were enough. Sif shoved past him and ran away into the castle. He chased her for a short distance, calling to her to come back, but she dodged him and hid in a store-room until he had gone. Then she slipped out and moved on, forcing herself to keep to a walk. There were guards and servants about, but none of them paid too much attention to her, and she took a left turn down a flight of stairs, making straight for the lower levels of the castle, where the crypts were. And the dungeon.

There was a short stairway leading down to the barred door that locked them away; Sif paused at the base of it and muttered a spell to unlock it. It swung open quietly and she went through and locked it behind her. Beyond was a guardroom, currently unoccupied, and she walked through that, keeping close to the walls, her heart pounding. There would be guards up ahead, but she could order them out of her way. But if Murtagh-

The sound of voices from up ahead made her blood freeze. She stood still for the fraction of a second and then dived beneath the table – and not a moment too soon. The second door that blocked the passageway that led to the cells swung open, and Murtagh came through. He moved slowly, and a little wearily, shoulders hunched, as if he had aged ten years. He paid no attention to the guards who had let him through and made for the other door as it too opened from the other side. Sif couldn't see who it was, but she recognised Jarsha's voice.

'-There you are. How did it go?'

Murtagh stopped by the table. 'Not so well,' he said in a tired voice.

Sif drew back as quietly as she could. He was so close she could reach out and touch him…

'He wouldn't talk?' said Jarsha.

'No,' said Murtagh. 'I tried a hundred times to get into his head; it was like trying to kick down a steel door. He wouldn't tell me anything; just cursed at me and demanded to be let go.'

'You think maybe he's innocent?'

'No,' Murtagh said heavily. 'He doesn't need to confess. The claw-marks on the door… I cleaned the blood away from her…' he broke off and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, as if he were about to cry, but when he spoke again it was in the same tired, level voice as before. 'There were the marks of teeth in her throat. And even without those we still have the eyewitnesses, and the horse, and the symbol. It was him.'

'Gods,' Jarsha breathed. 'How could…? _Why?'_

'Why? Who knows why? Revenge, perhaps. Some notion of punishing her for her crimes against his father.' The shuddering sound was louder now, and deeper. 'Gods. She was right. She was right about him. He's not a King, he's not even a man. He's a creature. Those teeth… he snarled at me in there. Like a wild dragon… completely inhuman.'

'Well what are we going to do with him?' said Jarsha.

'We have no choice,' said Murtagh. 'He must be judged and punished like any other murderer would be, no matter what the dragons say.'

Crouched as low as she could beneath the table, Sif chewed her lip. _No,_ she thought. _No._

'Yes,' said Jarsha. 'I agree. Come on; you should get out of here, you need to rest.'

'I'm fine,' Murtagh mumbled, though he took a few steps toward the other rider anyway.

'No you're not; you're barely standing up straight. You should get some sleep, something to eat…'

'How's Sif?' Murtagh asked abruptly.

'I don't know, I mean… she's very… I don't know.'

'I need to go to her,' said Murtagh. 'Come on.'

Sif watched his legs walk past and away, and a few moments later the door closed behind him with a clang and the lock clicked. She waited until she was sure they had gone back up the steps, and then came out from under the table and stood up straight. She had to hurry, before Murtagh found out she wasn't in her room.

Feeling curiously calm, she walked straight toward the other door, that led to the cells. There were guards on the other side, but she ignored them and used the unlocking spell.

They stood back as the door opened, but raised their spears. 'My Lady?' said one.

Sif knew what to do. She had been issuing commands to servants and guards for years, and had always known how they should be treated. She completely ignored the two of them and strode into the passage whose walls were lined with solid wooden doors.

The guards closed the door behind her, and one came after her. 'Excuse me, my Lady, but what are you doing down here?'

Sif turned to face him. 'I have come to visit Prince Skandar,' she said. 'Which one is his cell?'

The guard hesitated. 'I'm under orders from Lord Murtagh not to let anyone in.'

Some of her fear came back at that, but it only served to make her angry. She drew herself up. 'Lord Murtagh is not here now,' she said in her most imperious voice. 'I am. Now show me to the cell or I will make sure you lose your job.'

The guard knew better than to argue. 'Yes, my Lady.'

Deeply relieved, Sif let him pass her and followed him to the door of the cell at the end of the row. He stopped there and took a key from his belt. 'Now I'll let you in and stand outside the door in case you need me.'

'No,' said Sif. 'I shall let myself in, and you will return to your post. Now.'

'Forgive me, my Lady, but that would not be wise. The prisoner could be dangerous to you, and-,'

'And _I_ am a fully-trained dragon rider,' Sif snapped. 'I can protect myself. Go away.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

She waited until he had gone, and then turned the key in the lock and went in, muttering the light-spell. A blow glow appeared around her hand, and she stopped in the doorway to stare at what it illuminated.

The cell would have been completely dark if she had not been there. It was bare; with a stone floor, walls and ceiling, and the only furnishing was a wooden bench attached to one wall and a chamber pot in a corner. Skandar was sitting with his back to the wall directly opposite her. His wrists were shackled to the wall behind him, and his head was bowed, silver curls covering his face.

The instant she saw him, all of Sif's fear was swept away. She shut the door and went to him, crouching beside him. 'Skandar-,'

He cringed away from her as she reached out to touch him, mumbling. 'No. Don't. Please, don't.'

Sif touched his hair, pulling it gently away from his face. 'Skandar, it's me, it's Sif.'

He looked up at her then, and she groaned aloud at the sight of him. His good looks were gone now, obscured by a massive bruise that covered half his face. The eye on that side was swollen shut, and his nose was broken and crusted with half-dried blood. More blood had flowed from his mouth, and even now it was dripping from the tip of his beard and onto his robe, staining it. But his other eye was open, focused on her. 'Sif,' he said blankly.

Sif couldn't bear it any longer; she started to sob. 'Skandar. Skandar, what have they done to you?'

'Don't know,' he mumbled. 'Sif, what's… what's…?'

Sif reached up to clasp his manacled hand. 'Skandar, please. I've… I've come here to help you. I'll get you out of here, I swear.'

He stirred then, turning his head to look at her through his good eye. 'You've… got to, Sif. Please, before they kill me,' his voice was thick and a little slurred, and she realised that one of his long canines was broken in half. 'They're going… going to kill me, because of Father. Because I'm… because I've got…' and then, incredibly, he started to cry. 'I don't want to die, please, don't let them kill me, Sif, it's not my fault. Father told me, he said, he told me, he said I mustn't come here, he said… said…'

Sif reached downward, putting her arms around him as well as she could. 'Skandar, please, don't cry, don't…'

'He was right,' Skandar moaned. 'Gods, he was right. He was right. What have I done?'

'Skandar, they think you killed my mother,' said Sif. 'They think you killed her and Eragon as well.'

'Eragon…?' he repeated, shuddering.

'My brother,' said Sif. 'My baby brother… Skandar, please. Please just tell me you didn't do it. Tell me you're innocent.'

Skandar didn't seem to hear her. '_Anhoffter ewigod mo darfod,'_ he said. '_Anhoffter ewigod mo darfod,_ always and always…'

Sif shook him by the shoulder. 'Please, Skandar just tell me! _Please!'_

There was a thump from outside, and she looked up sharply at the sound of voices. Someone was coming. With a sinking heart, she recognised Murtagh's voice. Too late.

She let go of Skandar's shoulder and began to straighten up, but stopped when she felt a powerful grip suddenly close around her wrist.

'Please,' Skandar hissed. 'The dragons. Skirnir. Go to him, Sif, tell him. Tell them I need help, tell them…'

The door opened, and light flooded into the cell. '_SIF!_'

Sif pulled herself free of Skandar's grip. 'Murtagh, I-,'

Murtagh strode toward her and seized her by the arm. '_What are you doing in here?'_ he rasped.

Sif cried out. 'Please-!'

But Murtagh was not her mother, and he would not listen. He dragged her out of the cell, all his terrible strength suddenly turned against her, and once they were outside he held her still and slapped her in the face hard, three times. He took her by the shoulders, gripping until it hurt. 'What the hell were you doing in there?' he said. 'Well? What were you doing? _Answer me!'_

'I was talking to him,' Sif babbled. 'I was just talking-!'

He slapped her again. 'You stupid empty-headed _brat!_ You brought him here. You brought him to us, you told him our secrets, you brought him here and he killed your mother.' He shook her. 'Do you understand me, Sif? He killed your mother. He tore her throat out with his teeth.'

'He didn't do it!' said Sif. 'He _wouldn't.'_

Murtagh finally let go of her, and gave her a hard shove back toward the door leading out of the dungeon. 'Get out of my sight,' he snarled.

Sif went, stumbling and sobbing. Murtagh followed her out of the dungeons and then handed her over to Jarsha, who silently took her back to her room.

Sif collapsed on the bed. She was shaking all over, and her face hurt. She didn't even hear the door close behind her, or see the faint green glow as Jarsha sealed it with magic.

It was full night now, and the room was full of shadows. Sif stilled eventually.

'_Saphira. Saphira, please, talk to me.'_

Saphira's answer came after a while. _'Sif. What have you done?'_

'_I went to see Skandar. Just to ask him…'_

'_And what did he say?'_ Saphira asked quietly.

'_He asked me to help him; told me to go and tell the dragons what had happened. He was hurt, his face was swollen… Murtagh caught me and hit me.'_

'_You shouldn't have been down there,'_ said Saphira. _'What did you expect him to do?'_

'_Saphira, we have to do something,'_ said Sif. _'We can't let them kill him.'_

Saphira gave a flash of anger. _'No, Sif. You have to leave this alone now. Let them do what must be done.'_

'_I can't. I can't, Saphira. I can't just leave him. He needs me!'_

'_If he is innocent, they will find out,'_ said Saphira. _'Stay away, Sif. You've done enough. I am not going to let you interfere again, not now.'_

Sif stood up, suddenly angry. _'Fine. You do what you want. I know what I have to do.'_

She would do what she had always done, she told herself as she walked toward the window. She would do what the songs advised. She would follow her heart.


	16. Fortress of Tears

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Fortress of Tears**

The roaring woke Murtagh up. He sat up sharply. 'Nasuada…?'

That was when the memories of the previous day came rushing back. He shuddered and rubbed his face hard, his mind reaching out automatically for Thorn. The red dragon responded instantly, not with words but with a sense of warmth and affection – a kind of mental hug. _'Murtagh…'_

The roaring grew louder, and Murtagh dragged himself out of bed. _'What's going on? What's all that noise?'_

'_It's Skirnir,'_ Thorn said grimly. _'He's here. Him and his sisters and the youngsters. They're out the front of the city.'_

'_Gods…'_ Murtagh found his tunic lying on the floor and struggled back into it. The memory of Nasuada's dead body kept flashing across his mind, and he fumbled with his belt, his fingers suddenly stiff and clumsy, as if they didn't belong to him any more. He managed to finish dressing, and strapped on his sword before he left the room. Its weight was reassuring, as always. He'd worn a sword for as long as he could remember.

Thorn was waiting up on the roost. Rose and Skarlath were there as well, and Saphira was circling over head.

Murtagh paused to pat his partner on the snout and then went to the edge of the roost to look over at the city. The sun was halfway up, and smoke was rising from a few chimneys. But it was all too easy to spot Skirnir. The dragon was standing outside the city gates, his silver scales shining in the pale yellowy light, directing his roars at the roost and its occupants. Lifrasir was there, too, along with her sisters and her niece and nephew. They were behind their elder, standing together in a tight group, making no sound but simply supporting him with their presence, as if they were an honour guard.

Murtagh swore to himself. _'Gods damn it. They must have realised he was missing.'_

'_Hurry,'_ said Thorn. _'Put my saddle on; we have to get down there. If they decide to start attacking…'_

Murtagh had brought it up with him, and began to strap it on with practised speed. The trapdoor opened again and Carnoc appeared, hurrying over to Rose. He too looked tousled, and swore when he saw Skirnir. 'Curse him! What are we going to do?'

'Stay here,' Murtagh said calmly. 'Send Jarsha down to keep an eye on him. I'm going down to talk to them.'

'Are you sure that's a good-,'

'_Do it,'_ Murtagh snapped, hauling himself up over Thorn's leg and into the saddle.

The red dragon flew out over the city and landed close to the gates. Skirnir moved back to give him room, but the moment Murtagh was out of the saddle he started toward him so quickly that Thorn reared up to defend him.

Skirnir completely ignored him. _'Lord Murtagh, what have you done? Where is my brother? What have you done to him?'_

Murtagh breathed deeply. _'Prince Skandar is in the dungeons under our city. He hasn't been hurt.'_

'_Release him,'_ Skirnir snarled. Behind him the others bared their teeth. _'Release him now, or I will tear the castle apart and free him myself.'_

Murtagh put a hand on his sword-hilt. 'If you do that, I will consider it an act of war,' he said aloud.

'_Why have you imprisoned him?'_ Skirnir demanded.

'_The Lady Nasuada is dead,'_ said Murtagh. _'Murdered.'_ He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

Skirnir pulled back at that. _'What?'_

'_Murdered,'_ Murtagh said again. _'Along with our child. And we have evidence that your brother is the killer.'_

Lifrasir pushed forward. _'What evidence? Why would he do something like that?'_

'_Nasuada's throat was torn out,'_ said Murtagh. _'Bitten. There were claw-marks on the door. I have questioned the servants, and Skandar was seen leaving the castle in a great hurry, with blood on his robe. A horse was stolen from the stables; Jarsha found it dead near the King's forest – it had also been killed by a bite to the throat. And I found this on the floor beside Nasuada's body.'_ He flung a piece of paper onto the ground in front of them.

Skirnir squinted at it. _'What…?'_

'_It was on the floor in blood,'_ said Murtagh. _'I pressed a piece of paper onto it to make this copy.'_

Skirnir moved his head close to it, until his snout was touching the ground, but there was no mistaking what was on the paper. A triple spiral, dark and blotchy but drawn with a terrible clarity – even an elegance.

Lifrasir looked too. _'Our father's symbol,'_ she said blankly.

'_Yes; the one he left behind every time he killed an enemy rider,'_ said Murtagh. _'The one he put on his banners when he marched against Ilirea.'_

Nobody spoke for a time.

Finally, Skirnir sat back. _'You cannot condemn him out of hand,'_ he said. _'There must be a trial. I must talk to him myself.'_

'_You will,'_ said Murtagh. _'I'll have him brought out so you can see him… where should we go? To the King's Wood, or…?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Skirnir.

'_Very well.'_ Murtagh hesitated. _'Skirnir… I owe it to you to be honest. If he is guilty, he must die.'_

Skirnir bowed his head. _'Yes,'_ he said softly. _'You are right. That is what our father would have done. The law is for us all.'_

'_And it must be done quickly,'_ Murtagh added. _'If the people find out who he is, they could protest. Even riot. Plenty of people here are still loyal to the old King's family, and if they knew we had his son…'_

'_It won't come to that,'_ Lifrasir interrupted. _'I don't believe Skandar did this. Bring him out here, Murtagh. Bring him to us and let him prove his innocence.'_

'_I will,'_ said Murtagh. _'But first there is something else we have to do.'_

Nasuada's burial took place later that morning, down in the crypt, where a tomb had been carved for her years before. Murtagh recited the ritual words while Carnoc, Jarsha and Sif stood by in silence, heads bowed. Sif's face was bruised, and she kept well away from her stepfather. She hadn't spoken to any of them all morning.

Nasuada's body had been washed and treated with scented oils, and was now clad in a suit of ceremonial armour inlaid with black enamel. Her sword had been laid over her body, her hands resting on the hilt, and a neck-guard covered the terrible wound on her throat. Carnoc and Murtagh slid her off the stretcher and into the tomb, and arranged her son's small body beside her, along with the urn that contained Silarae's ashes. After that the others placed flowers around her, along with a few other offerings – things she had owned in life, and some of Eragon's favourite toys. Nobody spoke, and Murtagh lifted the slab into place and sealed it with the spell he had been taught. Afterwards there was nothing left – no crack or line to show where the slab had joined the wall around it. Nasuada smiled down at them from the image that marked her last resting place, her carved eyes warm.

Murtagh stood there for a time, face expressionless, just watching her, before he turned away and silently left the crypt. Sif followed him at a safe distance. She'd done all she could; slipping out of the castle had been difficult, but she had made it to the King's Wood and told Skirnir that his brother was in trouble. After that all she could do was return to her room. She didn't dare go back to the dungeon, even in the dead of night.

Saphira was still angry with her, and was blocking her out of her mind, but she carried her to the King's Wood with the others and sat behind her as they re-formed the circle in front of the mountain.

Thorn and Murtagh came last. They had brought Skandar. The weredragon looked a little recovered; Murtagh must have healed him, because the swelling on his face had gone and his broken nose had straightened itself out. But there were bruises on his forehead and around his eye, and now only one canine protruded from his mouth – the other was still a broken stump. Still, though he wore a pair of heavy manacles and his robe was torn, he stood straight in the centre of the circle and faced them all defiantly.

Skirnir went forward to sniff at him. _'Skandar. Are you all right?'_

Skandar touched his snout. _'Skirnir. Did Sif tell you what happened?'_

'_She said you had been thrown in a cell,'_ said Skirnir. He sat back, his look sorrowful toward his brother. _'But Murtagh told us why.'_

Skandar cast an ugly look at Murtagh. 'So I'm here on trial, is that it?'

'Yes,' said Murtagh. 'You are here to prove your innocence in front of us, and if you cannot do that you will be executed.'

Skandar bared his teeth. 'You can't prove anything against me.'

'I believe we can,' Murtagh said coldly. He nodded to Carnoc. 'Read the charges.'

Carnoc stepped forward. He looked tired; his face was pale, and his carrot-coloured hair was tousled. He unfurled a scroll of paper, and began to read from it. 'Prince Skandar Taranisäii-Traeganni, son of Galbatorix, you are accused of… of the murder of Lady Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad of Du Weldenvarden, and of her son Eragon Murtaghson, of Ilirea. How do you plead?'

Skandar's hands clenched. 'I am innocent. How did she die, and why are you accusing me?'

Carnoc glanced at Murtagh, who nodded. 'She was killed in her son's nursery, yesterday afternoon. Her throat had been torn out. Her son had been stabbed.'

'I had nothing to do with it,' said Skandar.

Murtagh's eyes blazed. 'You were seen,' he snarled. 'Servants saw you run out of the castle. I have four eyewitness accounts. We found the horse you stole. Your claw-marks were on the door to the nursery. And your father's symbol was left on the floor by the bodies.'

'What?' said Skandar. 'What symbol?'

'Don't play the idiot with me. The triple-spiral. Drawn in blood.'

Skandar looked horrified. 'Oh gods. No. I swear I didn't do it. I was never in the castle yesterday; I was at my camp, I was eating, and then I slept.'

'Did anyone see you there?' said Murtagh.

Skandar hesitated, and bowed his head. 'No. I prefer to keep to myself.'

Skirnir was whining softly. _'No,'_ he said. _'Skandar, please, tell us you didn't do this.'_

'I didn't,' Skandar said fiercely. 'I tell you, I didn't. I was angry with Nasuada, but I didn't want her dead.'

'Be quiet,' said Murtagh. He breathed in deeply. 'A formal trial is not necessary. You know whether you did it or not. All you have to do to win your freedom is say you didn't do it in the ancient language.'

'I don't know it,' said Skandar.

Murtagh looked pleased. 'It won't let you lie,' he said. 'If you try to tell a lie using the ancient language, you will be silenced immediately. Now…' he paused and said three words in the ancient language. 'They mean "I am female". Try to say them.'

'Say them again,' said Skandar.

Murtagh did. But Sif, listening, knew what he was saying. It was not "I am female", but "I am male".

Skandar listened carefully, and then successfully repeated the words back.

'Good,' said Murtagh. 'Now say this.' Now the words really were "I am female".

Skandar tried to say it. '_I am f- I am f-,_' he stopped, puzzled. 'I can't say it. I know the word but I can't say it.'

Murtagh nodded. 'Good. You've proven that you don't understand the language, and that you can't lie in it either. You were trying to say "I am female"… a lie.'

Skandar's eyes gleamed. 'My father told me a little about the ancient language… your idea is a good one. Now tell me how to say "I am not a murderer", and we can end this charade.'

'_Sjá rekkr vili myrfod,'_ said Murtagh. _I am not a murderer. _'Repeat it,' he said. 'Say "_Sjá rekkr vili myrfod".'_ He repeated it several times, until Skandar nodded.

'Fine,' he said.

Sif, looking on, felt her heart beat faster. _Do it,_ she thought. _Tell them, Skandar. Say it. Say the words. Show them you're innocent. Make them let you go._

Skandar took in a deep breath. '_Sjá… rekkr… vili… myr-,'_ he stopped.

'Say it,' Murtagh rasped.

'I will, I will. Just let me… _Sjá rekkr vili myr-,'_ again, he broke off.

Murtagh's eyes narrowed. 'Try this,' he said. This time the words meant "I have not committed murder".

Skandar tried. And tried. His face was growing pale. 'I have not committed… I have n… I have not…' his hands clenched. 'Gods damn it, I have not committed murder!' he yelled, using the common speech.

'Then say the words,' said Murtagh. 'Prove it.'

'_Sjá rekkr vili… _I have not… I have not… I have not…' Skandar began to tremble, the chains pulling him down. 'I have not… I have not…'

'No,' Sif moaned. 'No, Skandar. Say it. _Say it! _You have to say it! _Please,_ say it! It's not a lie; say it!'

He turned toward her, his eyes wide and terrified. 'I have not… I have not… I have not committed... I am not…'

'Then you are guilty,' Murtagh said softly.

Skandar began to tremble. 'I didn't do it!' he said. 'I swear I didn't do it! Please, you have to believe me, I didn't kill her!'

'Well then say the words!' Murtagh snapped.

'I can't! I can't say it, I can't… I am not…'

'Then you're trying to lie,' said Murtagh.  
Skandar turned toward Skirnir. 'Please, Skirnir, please, don't let them kill me, I didn't do it! _Please!'_

Skirnir had bowed his head as his brother spoke, but now he raised it again and looked straight at him, his eyes bright with tears. _'Skandar, how could you? How could you?'_

Skandar raised his hands in supplication, reaching toward him. 'Skirnir, I didn't! I'm not a murderer!'

'_Then prove it!'_ Lifrasir shouted. _'Say the words! All you have to do is say them!'_

Skandar tried again, but though his lips formed the words his voice died on the final word every time. He could not say it.

'Please!' he shouted again. 'Please, Skirnir, please-!'

But Skirnir only turned away. _'Take him away, Lord Murtagh. I don't want to look at him any more.'_

Skandar broke and tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. Murtagh ran him down and dragged him back, and he went, struggling and shouting. As he was taken back toward where Thorn waited, Sif moved closer to him and he reached toward her. 'Sif, help me!'

Without warning, Sif rushed at him. Carnoc grabbed her and dragged her back, but she fought just as furiously as Skandar, straining with all her might to get at him and screaming all the while. '_You bastard!_ You bastard, you evil bastard, you murderer! I'll kill you! I swear to gods I'll kill you! You did it! _You killed her!_'

_I'll never feel anything ever again. _

Sif let the words circle themselves around inside her head as she sat in the dining hall with the others and ate a meal of cold meat and bread. They talked among themselves, keeping their voices low, but she said nothing at all. She ignored them completely and sipped at her wine, keeping her face hard and expressionless. When she had eaten she left the room without a word and made for her own bedchamber. It was dark inside, but a servant had lit a fire in the grate. Sif used magic to light the room rather than relying on candles, and silently took off her gown. She put it away in the cupboard and brought out a different one. This one was plain black wool, decorated with silver beads. She didn't own a black cloak, and settled for a dark blue velvet instead. The sight of all her gowns, lined up neatly together in the cupboard, made her feel angry at herself. All those pearls and silks and gems and fine embroidery… so much finery, so many things she'd thought were pretty… she hadn't been a lady. She had been a stupid little girl, collecting pretty dresses and decorating herself for dances with nobles who didn't care about her, spending all her time on things that didn't matter, that didn't _mean_ anything. Stupid, girlish things. And all the while she should have been doing other things, trying to be a proper rider like her mother, and her father, and Murtagh. _And I will,_ she promised herself. She slammed the cupboard shut on them and turned away. _I'll burn them. I'll throw them away. I'll never wear any of them again._

Her eyes were dry, but there was a strange, hot feeling in her stomach as she pulled on the black dress. All the time they had been laughing at her! Nobody had believed she was a real rider, not even Saphira. Her mother hadn't cared when she had run away from her duties at Gil'ead, because she knew she didn't care about them either. And Skandar…

Sif wrapped the cloak around herself and left the room.

It was raining when she climbed up through the trapdoor and onto the dragon roost. The dragons were there as always, most of them asleep and apparently impervious to the wet, but Saphira was awake. She had sensed that her rider was coming, and was waiting, head raised and neck elegantly arched, water dripping from the tip of her snout as she stared impassively at Sif.

Sif shuddered slightly as the rain began to soak into her clothes, but she ignored it. She shut the trapdoor and walked toward Saphira, stopping when she was nearly beneath her overhanging snout. She stood there for a few moments, wordless, and then knelt.

She said nothing, and nor did she try and make mental contact. She stayed where she was, head bowed, surrounded by the relentless drumming of the rain. Waiting.

Nothing happened for a long time, and neither of them moved. But Sif did not falter, even when the water finished soaking through her clothes and touched her skin, or after that when the cold finally got to her and she started to shiver.

It felt like years had passed before Saphira finally opened her mind to her. _'Sif.'_

Sif did not look up, and she said nothing. She opened her own mind wide and let Saphira in; let her share all her fear and her misery and her grief.

Saphira moved slightly, her talons grating on the stone. _'Sif, why have you come here?'_

'_To beg you to forgive me,'_ she said, not looking up.

The silence drew out after that; cold and wet and full of things left unspoken. Sif's knees ached, her feet were numb, she was wet from end to end. She wanted to get up, to go back inside, to return to her room and put on some warm clothes, and most of all she wanted to get into bed and huddle under the blankets and cry until her throat hurt and the sun rose again. But she stayed where she was. Nothing could make her move now. _I am not weak any more,_ she thought fiercely. _I won't be weak._

Still, Saphira said nothing. But she did not push Sif away, or block her.

Finally, Sif said; _'You were right, Saphira. You were right about everything. I'm weak, and I'm a fool, and this was all my fault, and it's because I wouldn't listen to you. I betrayed you. I'm not worthy to be a rider, Saphira; I'm not worthy to have you, and I'm not worthy to be the daughter of Eragon Shadeslayer.'_

There was a sound like a sigh. _'Look at me, Sif.'_

Sif raised her head and saw Saphira's face looking down on her, eyes reflecting distant lightning.

'_Sif,'_ Saphira said at last. _'Sif… you're all wet.'_

'_It doesn't matter,'_ Sif answered bitterly. _'None of it does.'_

'_It doesn't matter that you're cold?'_

'_Saphira, Mother's dead,'_ said Sif. _'She's dead and it's my fault. I don't care what happens to me. It should have been me. I should be dead, not her.'_

'_So you want me to be dead as well, do you?'_ Saphira said sharply. _'Is that what you want?'_

'_No, Saphira. I didn't mean that; you know I didn't.'_

Saphira raised her head and looked away over the city, her horns outlined against the sky, jaws opening slightly. _'What do I know?'_ she asked. _'I know is that my cousin is dead, along with your mother and your brother. That's all I know now, Sif. And I know that you're in pain. And I know that I…'_ she faltered suddenly, head bowed. _'I know that I don't know what to do. I feel lost, Sif, lost. My heart hurts.'_

Sif stood up. _'So does mine.'_

'_I needed you here with me,'_ Saphira said quietly. _'I wanted to call you, but I was angry with you, I wanted to punish you… I'm a fool, Sif. A terrible fool.'_

'_No,'_ Sif ventured closer to her. _'No, Saphira. You were right to do it. I deserved it; I still do. But I swear I'll never ignore you again, I'll never put you aside or choose someone else instead of you, never, I swear…'_

'_No. I shouldn't have done what I did,'_ said Saphira. _'Don't you understand? We are one, you and I. Two bodies, one soul, one heart. Punishing you meant punishing myself. But… I deserved it too. This was my fault. I should have seen it, I should have said something, I should have _known._'_

'_How could you have known?'_ said Sif.

Saphira's head jerked upward suddenly, and her jaws opened wide as she made a low moaning, snarling sound. _'I should have known!'_ she said. _'I am a dragon! We are supposed to be wise, cunning… we are supposed to know things humans do not! I should have seen him for what he was before it was too late, before we brought him here. Don't you understand? He fooled me as much as he did you, and used me too. He used us both, made us his pawns, and now we can never undo what he did. It's _my _fault, Sif. All mine.'_

Sif finally dared to go to her and touch her, and when Saphira lowered her head she wrapped her arms around her snout, hugging it tightly. _'No. I was in love with him, Saphira. It was affecting you.'_ She sobbed. _'Gods, I'm such a fool. He was so handsome, so wonderful to be with; I would have believed anything he told me. And I kissed him. I kissed Galbatorix's son, and I loved it.'_

'_What are we going to do?'_ Saphira asked, almost plaintively.

Sif let go and wiped her tears away with her sodden sleeve. _'We're going to live up to what we are, Saphira. I'm not going to be a stupid little girl who cries and wears pretty dresses; I'm going to be a rider. A proper rider, like my father. I'm going to do what he would have done.'_

The dragon seemed to draw strength from the ferocity in her partner's voice. _'Yes. We can't let this destroy us. We have to grow from it; let it teach us.'_

'_And we will,'_ said Sif. _'Murtagh told me what's going to happen. They're going – we're going to kill him. He's going to be executed tomorrow morning. They've set up a gibbet in one of the courtyards – the big one, and they'll hang him there in private. Skirnir and the others aren't coming. Murtagh said I shouldn't come either, but I'm going to. We should both be there, to watch him die.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Saphira. _'The trueborn line of the Mad King ends with him. It's our right to see him die; so we can know it's done.'_

'_I have to see it,'_ said Sif. _'So I know he's dead, so I can show I'm not afraid. I want him to see me before he dies; I want him to know that I…'_

'_There won't be any triumph in it,'_ Saphira told her softly. _'Not for you, or for me, or for any of us.'_

'_I know. But we have to be there. Both of us.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Saphira.


	17. Dark Light

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Dark Light**

It was still raining next day, when the little group of dragon-riders gathered in the castle's largest courtyard. It had been built especially to accommodate dragons, but it wasn't big enough for all four of them. Thorn, as the largest, crouched beside the simple wooden platform that had been set up at one end while the others perched on the surrounding walls like a row of vultures, watching and waiting.

Murtagh was on the platform, by the gibbet. He was plainly clad and had Zar'roc slung on his back. Sif was beside him, pale but expressionless, and she too had her sword. There was nobody else in the courtyard, not even any guards; everyone in the castle had been ordered to keep away. Murtagh wanted to be certain that himself and his fellow riders and their partners were the only witnesses to the execution.

A small door opened in the wall behind the platform and Carnoc and Jarsha appeared, leading Skandar between them. The weredragon walked slowly, shoulders hunched. He was still wearing the robe he had worn on the day of the meeting, the day Nasuada had argued with him and so sealed her fate. The wolf-fur trimming was damp and one of the fastenings had been torn off, leaving the front partially hanging open, and the sleeves were torn. The chain still dangled between his wrists, rattling softly.

The two riders took him up onto the platform and made him stand on the trapdoor beneath the noose.

Murtagh stepped forward. 'Prince Skandar Taranisäii-Traeganni, son of Galbatorix,' he intoned. 'You have been found guilty of the murder of Nasuada daughter of Ajihad and her son Eragon Murtaghson, and have been sentenced to death. Normally you would suffer the traitor's death of hanging, drawing and quartering, but because you are of royal blood you will die a cleaner death by hanging alone. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?'

Skandar looked up. He was pale and haggard from his time in the dungeon, and his beard was crusted with dried blood. 'I am innocent,' he said.

'Then say the words,' said Murtagh.

He looked away. 'I can't.'

'Why not?'

'I don't know. There must be something wrong with the words you made me say. I can't say them. I tried all night, but I can't.'

Murtagh nodded to Carnoc. The other rider took the noose in both hands and looped it around Skandar's neck, pulling it tight.

Skandar struggled. 'No! You can't do this! You can't just kill me!'

'We must,' said Murtagh. 'If you cannot say the words, then you are a murderer.'

'They're just words!' Skandar shouted. 'They don't mean anything! I demand a trial!'

'You had a trial,' said Murtagh. 'It was yesterday. You failed to prove you were innocent, and therefore you are guilty. Don't struggle,' he added softly. 'It will be quick.'

Skandar was looking upward now, desperately scanning the walls and the sky. 'Where's Skirnir? Where are my family?'

'They're not coming,' said Murtagh. 'Skirnir said none of them could bear to watch. You've shamed them, Skandar. They want nothing more to do with you.'

Skandar stared blankly at him. Then, horribly, he started to cry – low, harsh sobs that made the rope shake. 'No. Please, no. I don't want to die. Please, don't kill me. I'll do anything!'

'And what about my mother?' Sif shouted suddenly, starting forward. 'What about her? Did she want to die? Well? Did she? And what about the baby? Did _he_ want to die? He was three years old! How could you?'

'I didn't do it!' Skandar shouted back. 'I tell you I didn't do it!' But Sif only glared back, hating him with every fibre of her being, wanting him to die, and when he saw the look on her face it seemed to destroy the last of his will. He sagged in Carnoc and Jarsha's grip, sobbing, and now they all saw it – saw the cool façade utterly disappear, saw the twin masks of his father's face and his father's voice crumble and reveal what was underneath: a sixteen-year-old boy, frightened for his life.

Grim-faced, Murtagh went to the lever that would open the trapdoor and put his hand on it, preparing to pull it back.

Sif ran to him. 'No,' she said. 'Don't.'

Murtagh tightened his grip. 'Sif, this has to be done.'

'I know.' She laid her hand over his. 'I want to do it.'

He stared at her. 'Why?'

'For my mother. To avenge her. It's my right.' Sif shuddered internally, but made herself stay calm. She grasped Murtagh's hand, pulling it away. 'Let me do it, Murtagh. Please.'

Very reluctantly, he let go and backed away. 'If you're sure…'

Sif forced herself to look at Skandar, forced herself to remain unwavering. 'I'm sure,' she said.

She took her place by the lever, bracing herself in readiness.

Skandar looked at her, his eyes shining with tears, and then looked away. 'Father,' he moaned. 'Please, forgive me, forgive me…'

Sif gave the lever a tentative shove. It didn't move. She gritted her teeth and tried again a little harder. It shifted slightly this time, but still refused to budge.

'_Sif!'_

She realised everyone was looking upward, and stopped, confused. _'Saphira?'_

Saphira too had her snout turned skyward. _'There's a dragon coming,'_ she said.

Sif let go of the lever. _'What dragon? One of Skirnir's clan?'_

'_I don't think so. It's coming this way…'_ Saphira took off and flew up and away, followed by Skarlath.

Sif looked uncertainly at Murtagh. 'What should I do?'

'Wait a moment,' said Murtagh. '…I can see it now.'

Soon Sif could too. There was a dragon up there; at least as big as Skirnir, circling with Saphira and Skarlath. But its scales didn't look silver from here, or blue…

'_Saphira? Saphira, who is it? What do they want?'_

Saphira's shock went rifling through her. _'Oh gods. I don't believe this, it's- no wait! Stop!'_

The big dragon had suddenly dropped out of the sky and was descending toward them, foreclaws spread wide. Sif yelled in fright and drew her sword, but Murtagh put a hand on her arm to stop her, and the dragon landed with a deafening thump, destroying a stand of fruit trees. The instant it was on the ground it rushed toward them, bellowing, projecting its mental voice to all of them. _'NO! For gods' sakes, stop!'_

The voice was female, and frantic, and Sif backed away, frightened and bewildered. The dragon placed one man-sized forepaw on the platform, making the wood buckle, and stared down at them, scales and eyes gleaming in the sun. White scales, Sif saw, white scales and silver eyes, eyes fixed on Skandar.

The weredragon had stumbled backward, pulled up short by the noose, but his eyes were fixed on the white dragon, wide and bewildered. 'Laela…?' he faltered.

She lowered her snout toward him. 'Galbatorix?' she said aloud. 'No. No, it can't be. It can't…'

Skandar's sobs broke out afresh. 'No,' he said. 'No, Laela, it's me, Skandar. It's me.'

She reared up. _'What's going on here?'_ she demanded, her mental voice a solid wall of pure rage. _'What are you doing to him? Where is the King?'_

Thorn bravely darted forward. _'Stop this!' _he shouted. _'Back away, now.'_

She did, but only a little. _'Thorn? Is that you? What's going on here? Where is the King?'_

'_The King is dead,'_ said Thorn. _'Poisoned. Laela, is that you? Are you Laela?'_

'_Yes. And you have my partner's son. What are you doing to him? Let him go!'_

Murtagh came forward. 'Laela, please,' he said. 'Calm down and we'll talk.'

She sat back, glaring at him. _'Murtagh. You're Murtagh. What's going on? Why have you done this?'_

Murtagh breathed in deeply. '_Prince_ Skandar is about to be executed,' he said.

'_Why?'_

'He committed a murder,' said Murtagh. 'Three murders, and possibly a fourth.'

Laela's mouth opened. _'No! Stop it! You're lying!'_

'It's not a lie!' Sif shouted. 'He did it. He killed my mother and my brother, and Silarae as well, and he poisoned the King. He came here to try and take over; he tried to say he was innocent in the ancient language, and he couldn't.'

Laela looked straight at Skandar. _'No. Tell me you didn't. Tell me it's a lie.'_

'I didn't do it, Laela,' said Skandar. 'I tell you, I didn't do it.'

'He is guilty,' said Murtagh. 'He was seen; he left signs behind. He tried a hundred times to plead innocence in the ancient language, and failed. I'm sorry, Laela, but he's a murderer and he must be punished for it.' He spoke the ancient language, his voice low.

Laela faltered at that. _'No,'_ she whispered. _'Skandar, no. Why? Why did you do it?'_

'I didn't!' said Skandar. 'Please, Laela, you've got to help me!'

'He left the mark,' Murtagh said softly. 'The triple-spiral, in blood on the floor beside Nasuada's body. Her throat was torn out; there were claw-marks on… on her son. Her baby son.'

'_But why? Why?'_

'Revenge,' said Murtagh. 'He came here hoping to become King after Ravana died. Nasuada opposed him, and that night he killed her.'

'He's lying!' Skandar shouted. 'Please, don't listen to him!'

Laela had become still now, and she turned her sad silver eyes on him. _'Say it,'_ she told him. _'Say you're innocent, say it in the ancient language. Please, Skandar. Show me you didn't do it.'_

Skandar tried to stand upright. '"I have not… I have not committed… I have not… have not…" oh gods…' he started to sob again. 'I did it,' he said. 'I did it. I can't lie, I can't. I'm a murderer, Laela, I'm guilty, guilty. I didn't want to do it, I couldn't help it but I did it, there was blood on my hands, blood on my robe, I couldn't get it off, I couldn't… Father said I shouldn't come back, but I didn't know where to go, and the blood… gods forgive me, what have I done?'

Laela bowed her head. _'Gods. Oh gods, no. I came too late, I found you too late.'_

Sif's hand found the lever again. This time she didn't hesitate.

Skandar saw her. 'No!' he said. 'No-!'

Sif's eyes met his. 'This is for my mother,' she said, and pulled with all her might.

The lever fell into place with a loud _thunk_. The trapdoor opened beneath Skandar's feet and he dropped, jerking to a stop when the rope went taut. Sif had expected the fall to break his neck, but the gibbet had been hastily made, and Laela had damaged it. The weredragon dangled, kicking and jerking, his face turning red and then blue, and all the while a horrible choking, rasping sound came from his throat as the noose strangled him.

Sif stood back, and Murtagh, and Carnoc and Jarsha. None of them spoke. They stood by, watching in grim silence as Skandar started to die.

Laela started to moan softly. _'No. No… I can't. I CAN'T!'_

There was no warning, no sign. The white dragon lunged forward. Her jaws snapped shut around the gibbet, shattering the wood into pieces, and Skandar fell as the rope broke. Thorn rushed at her, but she was twice his size, and easily batted him aside. Her paw ripped through the platform, tearing it in half and sending the riders flying. She wrapped her talons around Skandar's limp form and then took to the air with a massive blow of her silvery wings. The other dragons tried to stop her, but reeled away when she spat a lance of white and silver flame straight at them, scattering them in the air like so many pigeons. They made an attempt to chase her, but all of them were confused – reluctant to leave while their riders were distressed and possibly hurt, and none of them could outpace Laela in the sky. The white dragon turned Westward with a flick of her wings, and flew away as fast as she could go.

The rushing air woke Skandar up. He stirred in Laela's claws, groaning and pawing feebly at his throat. The rope loosened a little and let him breathe properly, but he blacked out again a short time later. When he woke again they were flying over a lake. He stared vaguely at it, wondering if it was _Hiâ Llyn_, the Ice Lake, where he had nearly drowned that time, before Eurwen had told him…

There were mountains on the other side of the lake, and Laela landed there, on a lonely crag of rock, and put him down. Skandar lay crumpled, face-up. His head hurt, and his throat hurt. He couldn't see properly, and his lip was bleeding where he'd bitten it.

Laela nudged him. _'Skandar. Talk to me.'_

'_Laela…?'_

'_Yes. Can you sit up?'_

He managed it after a few tries, though he felt weak all over. He clutched at his throat; it felt crushed. _'Laela, what's… what's happening…? Where are we?'_

The white dragon's mind radiated terrible sadness. _'I brought your father here once, long ago, after we fled from Ilirea. Vrael sentenced him to death, and he threw himself from the top of a tower rather than be executed. I caught him. Now, I have caught you.'_

'_Laela,'_ said Skandar. _'Laela, it's… how did you get here…?'_

'_I came to look for you,'_ said Laela. _'To protect you as I would have protected your father.'_ She sat back, her white form huge and powerful against the sky. _'I looked for you in Tara. I spent years searching the land. Sometimes I thought you were dead, like your parents, but I never gave up.'_

'_I was at Hen Addef,'_ said Skandar. _'With the dark elves… King Orgetorix took me in… they called me the Dragon Child.'_

'_I know. I found Hen Addef, after you robbed the treasury and ran away.'_

'_They took my father's crown!'_ said Skandar. _'They stole it from me and locked it away. I had to steal it back; it was mine! Father gave it to me – they had no right.'_

'_And the gold you took?'_

'_I needed it. I was leaving; I needed money.'_

Laela breathed in deeply. _'This is my fault,'_ she said. _'All my fault. Your father… asked me to find you and keep you safe. If I had only… if I had found you before you left, if I could have done something to stop this…'_

'_You did,'_ said Skandar. _'You saved me; saved my life.'_

'_What I did, I did for your father's memory,'_ Laela said sharply. _'And that is all I'll do for you. If they catch you again, you're on your own.'_

'_Laela-!'_

'_How could you?'_ the white dragon hissed. _'How _could_ you, Skandar? What's happened to you? What happened to the boy who liked to play in the snow? Where did he go? When did he turn into this? When did he become a monster?'_

Skandar staggered to his feet. _'Laela, no. I'm not a monster! It was an accident, I didn't want to…'_

She closed her eyes briefly. When they opened, they were full of terrible despair. _'Your father would be ashamed of you,'_ she said, and flew away.

'No!' Skandar found his voice again, but it came out as a low, strangled rasp. 'Come back! _Laela!'_

But Laela did not hear him, and nor did she look back. She headed Northward, flying low but fast. Soon she disappeared in the grey haze of the rainy sky, leaving Skandar utterly alone.

The weredragon stood there in his drenched robe for a few moments, unmoving, his tear-streaked face still turned skyward. But his weakness soon told and he stumbled to his knees, gasping for breath. His throat was agony; it hurt to breathe, and his head hurt too. The manacles were still clamped around his wrists, weighing them down. His hands were weak and clumsy, but he grasped the chain and pulled it over his lap, turning his left arm until he found the keyhole. He jammed the point of his claw in, found the spot, pressed and turned. The manacle opened, and he quickly removed the other and flung the thing aside. His wrists were raw and bleeding and he pulled his wet sleeves down to cover them and then lay back, coughing and gasping. He slept briefly, in spite of the cold – or perhaps he fainted. He never knew.

He woke up with a jerk, to find that he had pulled himself into a crouched fighting stance, teeth bared. But there was no-one there to attack, and no chains pinning his hands together. He was free, and he was alone, lost in the rain.

Even so, he had to fight to make himself calm down. He was trembling slightly, like a cornered wolf, and his lips were drawn back to expose his teeth, ready to bite and tear. He breathed deeply, wrestling with the dragon that had risen up inside him. _No. Don't. Not now. Not now. _

But there was blood on his wrists, and soaked into his robe, and he could smell it. It burned in his nostrils, and on his tongue, as if he could taste it. They had put spells on him to force him to stay in the shape of a man, but the dragon was fighting through them now. He could feel it behind his eyes, trying to take control and reshape him. His skin hurt as the scales tried to erupt, and he could feel his teeth and his claws beginning to lenghten. It was a feeling he knew. This shape was weak, distressed, and the dragon wanted to rise as it had done that day in the lake, when the moon had showed him his father. _Weredragon._

Skandar began to jerk and twitch, scrabbling at the ground. Cries of pain escaped from his crushed throat, beginning to take on a harsh edge that made them sound like the snarling of a wild dragon. Finally, unable to contain it any longer, he threw his head back and roared. The sound echoed out over the mountains, loud and savage, and he followed it with another, and another, bellowing his misery and his rage.

When it was done he slumped back, trembling. But the dragon had begun to calm down now, and he groaned and closed his eyes. But the darkness behind them did nothing to help. The instant he shut his eyes, he saw it all again, playing out inside his head. All those faces, staring at him, and those voices. _Murderer. _

_Gods…_ they knew. They all knew now, all of them. Even Laela knew. Sweet Laela. He would never be King, would never take his father's throne and rule over his Empire. If he was caught now, he would die, and they would be looking for him. _Murderer. _He thought of his father and his warnings. _Never tell them who you are. If they knew, they would kill you. Never tell them you're my son._

'I had to,' Skandar whispered. 'I had to.'

He saw their faces again in his mind, and heard their voices; their rage, their disgust, their condemnation. _Murderer._ He thought of Sif and how she had looked at him before she took Murtagh's place and grasped the lever that would kill him. _This is for my mother. Her throat was torn out; there were claw-marks on the child, scratches on the door, you did it, Skandar, you did it. Creature. Monster. Murderer. You did it, you're guilty, guilty…_

Rage formed inside his chest, burning and terrible, and he felt a growl begin to rumble in his throat. _They will die for this. I don't care how or what must be done to make it happen, or if I lose my life to do it. I did it once, I'll do it again. I will find them, and they will die._

They met again, just once, two days after Skandar's escape. Skirnir's clan waited for them in front of Ravana's tomb, and they formed the circle once again with the four surviving riders.

Skirnir bowed his head toward Murtagh. _'We are sorry for your losses, my Lord.'_

'_And we are sorry for yours,'_ said Murtagh.

The silver dragon drew himself up. _'We have made a decision,'_ he said, his voice distant and formal. _'Skandar has betrayed us. We were too quick to trust him, and it is partly our fault that Lady Nasuada is dead. My sisters and I are leaving. We are going to look for Skandar. Dreyri will come with us, but Valdyr will stay here. They will help us stay in contact with you, and we will tell you as soon as we have him.'_

'_And what will you do once you find him?'_ Murtagh asked carefully.

Skirnir sighed. _'Skandar will not surrender. He knows what will happen if we capture him; he will run or fight to the death.'_

'_But will you let him?_' said Murtagh.

'_He betrayed us,'_ Skirnir said coldly. _'As far as I'm concerned, he is not one of us any more. If I find him, I will kill him.'_

'_I believe you,'_ said Murtagh. _'I didn't mean to insult you, but I had to ask. Blood, after all…'_

'_Yes, blood,'_ Lifrasir interrupted. _'Blood is thicker than water. Silarae was Shruikan's daughter; our cousin, and Skandar killed her along with Nasuada, whether he meant to or not.'_

Murtagh nodded. _'You have the right to kill him just as much as we do. When are you going to leave?'_

'_Immediately,'_ said Skirnir.

'_And what about Laela?'_ Thorn said suddenly. _'What will you do with her?'_

Skirnir sighed. _'Our father's death almost certainly drove her mad. She doesn't deserve to die for it. If she tries to interfere again I will fight her, but not to the death.'_

Murtagh nodded. _'I agree. The poor thing is out of her mind… she needs to be cared for, not killed.'_ He paused. _'And so does the Empire.'_

Skirnir's talons dug into the ground. _'Oh yes. Don't think we've forgotten about that. We have wasted too much time, and the Empire needs a ruler.'_

'_But who?' _said Murtagh. _'I assumed it would be you…'_

The silver dragon's eyes closed briefly. _'I was a fool,'_ he said. _'I didn't trust Nasuada, and I supported Skandar as much as to stand in her way as much as for loyalty. I paid for that mistake with Silarae's life. No, I will not be King. I am the wrong dragon; I was not made to rule.'_

'_Who, then?'_ said Murtagh.

'_You,'_ said Skirnir. _'You are a great man, Murtagh, more than you know, and you served our father loyally. You know as much about the Empire as anyone. You shall be Lord of the Riders, and guard the Empire for us.'_

If Murtagh was surprised, he didn't show it. _'Thankyou, Skirnir. It's an honour.'_

Their mental conversation was an open one, and everyone there could hear it. Sif listened in astonishment. Murtagh, Lord of the Riders… it was a title that had not existed since Galbatorix had killed Vrael and made himself King, and now she was seeing it resurrected.

Skirnir growled softly. _'We trust you, Murtagh.'_

Murtagh bowed. _'I will do my best.'_


	18. Wicked Game

**Chapter Eighteen**

**Wicked Game**

Carnoc stood by Rose's side and watched the dragons fly away. They went one at a time; Skirnir went first, closely followed by Lifrasir and her sisters. Dreyri went last, and Valdyr her brother followed to say farewell. But he returned as soon as they had joined together in a flock and flown away, landing not far away from Murtagh and Thorn. He was much smaller than Skirnir, and smaller than Thorn as well, though not by as much. His scales were jet black, and he had grey wings. One of his eyes was silver; the other was lost in the middle of a deep and ragged scar that had nearly torn a piece out of his skull.

He dipped his head respectfully to Thorn, but it was Murtagh he addressed. _'My father asked me to meet with you every day or so, so we can discuss matters of state. I'm here to advise you as well as I can, and if it's necessary for any reason to contact the others, I'll be your messenger.'_

Murtagh nodded. _'That sounds fine. Will you be staying here?'_

'_Yes, my Lord. I can hunt for myself, and I'll come to the roost if there's anything I need.'_

Another nod. _'I have to go back to Ilirea now, to eat and start organising things. I've already put the word out to the cities – there should be posters up on every street by now. If anyone sees the weredragon, they'll report it. He can't hide forever.'_

Valdyr hissed softly. _'No, my Lord. He can't. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to rest.'_ The one-eyed dragon bowed his head toward Murtagh and flew to the top of the mountain, where he settled down on his belly and wrapped his tail around himself, much as his great-grandfather might have done.

Murtagh nodded curtly to his fellow riders and climbed into Thorn's saddle, and a few moments later they were flying back to Ilirea. They dismounted on the dragon roost, and Carnoc paused to pat Rose on the snout before he climbed down through the trapdoor and followed Murtagh toward the dining hall. The newly-appointed Lord of the Riders walked rapidly, his long, powerful strides belying his advancing age. He went straight to the dining hall without glancing back at the others following in his wake, and once he was there he sat down at the head of the table and poured himself some wine, which he drank without saying anything.

Carnoc sat down on his right side, watching him carefully. There was no sign of happiness or triumph on Murtagh's face, but he hadn't really expected to see any. Murtagh had never been a light-hearted man, and after Nasuada's death he had become even more silent and shut-in than before. He seemed to have aged too; his face looked more lined, his hair a little greyer, his eyes more hollow. Carnoc had never seen his father, Morzan, but the truth was that Murtagh had begun to resemble him far more than he had once done. Like Morzan, he had the look of a man worn out by life.

Jarsha helped himself to some wine. 'Well,' he said. 'I suppose we ought to be celebrating… my Lord.'

Murtagh glanced briefly at him. 'Perhaps,' he said, and went back to his drink.

Carnoc sighed as he sipped at his own wine. He'd never been very good with words, and right now he regretted it more than usual. 'They'll catch him,' he said eventually. 'If they don't get to him, the wild dragons will, or the people. He can't hide forever.'

Murtagh put down his cup. 'Yes, probably.'

'I wanted to be the one to find him,' Sif mumbled. 'I wanted it to be me.' She had tried to slip out of the castle on the afternoon of Skandar's escape, but Murtagh had caught her, and she was currently in disgrace.

'You'll do no such thing,' he said curtly. 'Revenge is an ugly word, Sif. He has to die for the sake of justice, not revenge.'

Sif said nothing, but her lip curled slightly and she glared at the table-top. Her mother's death had changed her too, Carnoc thought. She was nothing like she had been before. There were no more pretty dresses, no more little songs and fancies. She was sour now, and sullen, and spent a lot of time in the crypt visiting the tombs of her parents, or on the roost with Saphira, though Murtagh had forced her to take an oath not to run away again. That depressed Carnoc. He had always been fond of Sif – the old Sif, who had thought life was like a song or a story. Skandar's betrayal had broken her innocence, and Carnoc hated him for that as much as for killing Nasuada and the child.

Murtagh ignored her sulkiness. He spent very little time with Sif nowadays, and the two always seemed to be at odds.

Servants brought in some food, and the four riders ate in silence. When they were done, Murtagh seemed to wake up from whatever distant place his mind had been occupying. 'Sif, go and visit Saphira,' he said brusquely. 'Thorn says she misses you.'

Sif shot him a suspicious look. 'And what are _you_ going to be doing?'

'Nothing you need to worry about,' said Murtagh.

Her eyes narrowed. 'You're going to talk about important things with Carnoc and Jarsha and you want to get rid of me.'

'Just go, Sif,' said Murtagh.

She gave him a furious look, but she knew better than to argue and stalked out of the room.

Carnoc watched her go. 'She's very angry with you,' he observed.

Murtagh rubbed his eyes. 'Yes, I know.'

'You shouldn't keep excluding her like this,' said Jarsha. 'She knows you're doing it.'

'Yes, and she resents it,' said Carnoc. 'She's not a child any more, and she's not stupid either.'

'Sif might not be a child any more, but until she starts acting responsibly she can stay out of this,' Murtagh said, but his tone was weary rather than sharp. 'I caught her trying to help him escape-,'

'-You don't know that,' Jarsha interrupted.

'I caught her in his cell, sitting very close to him,' said Murtagh. 'I doubt she was there to interrogate him. You know how strong he is; he could have broken her neck, or torn her throat out.'

'But he didn't,' Carnoc mused. 'I wonder why?'

'Because doing that wouldn't have made her set him free,' said Murtagh. 'Either way, Sif isn't what I'm concerned about right now. Skirnir is.'

'Why?' said Carnoc. 'He made you Lord of the Riders, didn't he? He gave up the fight over the throne. No more Kings, just as-,' he hesitated. 'Just as… we… wanted.'

Murtagh sat back in his chair. 'Yes,' he said, still speaking in the same tired voice. 'He made me Lord of the Riders. And he can unmake me just as easily. Don't be fooled, Carnoc. Skirnir has his father's will; he won't give up just like that. Oh, he made me ruler, sure enough, but he's made sure that Valdyr is still here to keep an eye on me. If I do anything he doesn't like, he'll be back here in a matter of days to put a stop to it.'

'What makes you think that?' said Carnoc, surprised.

'He resisted Nasuada far too fiercely to mean everything he said,' said Murtagh. 'And Skandar… I don't like this one bit. Skirnir is completely determined to be the one to find him. _Him,_ not us.'

'So?' said Jarsha. 'Skandar betrayed him too; he wants to avenge Silarae.'

'Or maybe he wants him for something else,' Murtagh said darkly.

'Murt- my Lord!' said Carnoc. 'You can't possibly be suggesting that they'd try and put him on the throne. Not _now.'_

'That's exactly what I mean,' said Murtagh. 'Murderer or not, Skandar is still the legitimate heir, and Nasuada was an enemy to Skirnir as much as she was to him. For all we know, they could have helped him kill her.'

Carnoc tugged at his beard. 'No,' he said flatly. 'I'm not going to believe that; not in a million years.'

'Don't forget what Nasuada was before she became a rider,' said Murtagh. 'She was the leader of the Varden, and she fought Galbatorix openly for years. She was their leader when Eragon the Brat took him and Skade prisoner and had them both tortured. She was by Eragon's side when he sacked Urû'baen and tried to kill both Skade _and_ Skandar, while he was still a baby. Wounds like that run deep, and dragons don't forget these things. To them, family comes before everything else. They always resented Nasuada, and they never completely trusted her; once Ravana wasn't there to keep her under control any longer, they saw her as a threat. And they don't trust _me_ either, that much is obvious. No… we can't risk having Skandar fall into their claws.'

'Well what are you going to do, then?' said Carnoc.

'Not me,' said Murtagh. 'You.'

'Me?'

'Yes, you,' Murtagh said impatiently. 'Carnoc, I'm sending you to Teirm.'

'To look for Skandar?'

'To become the city governor,' said Murtagh. 'I can't keep you here forever, and I won't.' He smiled wickedly. 'If Skirnir thinks he can keep watch over all of us, he's mistaken. The riders were made to stay on the move, and that's what we'll do.'

Carnoc grinned back. 'And Teirm is right near the Spine…'

'Yes. And I'm sure no-one will ask questions if you make sure Rose gets plenty of exercise…'

'She does enjoy a little flying over the mountains every now and then,' Carnoc nodded.

'…and if you should accidently happen to come across any fugitives hiding there, then that would be all to the good,' said Murtagh.

'What about me?' said Jarsha. 'Where do I go?'

'Dras-Leona,' Murtagh said briefly. 'And I'm sure you and Skarlath would enjoy plenty of exercise as well.'

Jarsha nodded. 'Yes, my Lord. And what do we do if we catch any fugitives while we're out there?'

Murtagh's eyes glinted darkly. 'I'm sure nobody will blame you if he dies during the struggle to catch him.'

They both nodded grimly. 'Understood, my Lord,' said Carnoc.

Murtagh stood up. 'Well then,' he said. 'You'd better go and pack your things if you're going to leave tomorrow.'

'Yes, my Lord.' Jarsha hesitated. 'What about Sif?'

'Sif,' said Murtagh, 'Will stay here with me.'

'Sensible,' said Carnoc. He didn't dare say what he was thinking of saying, which was "there's no telling what she'd bring home with her _this_ time. King Galbatorix risen from the grave, if we're lucky". In fact he felt sorry for her. She didn't deserve this, he reflected as he shuffled out of the dining hall. Bad enough that she had had her heart broken and had lost her mother to the claws of that faithless monster. Now she was going to lose Jarsha, who was the closest thing she had to an elder brother, and would be forced to live here at Ilirea more or less on her own. And though Carnoc had never believed in the gift of foresight, he knew in the pit of his stomach that things were only going to get worse. Worse for Sif, worse for Murtagh… worse for everyone.

It was raining again. Seated on Rose's back, Carnoc sighed and tugged at his waterproof hood, trying to keep the drops from spattering into this face. It was a vain hope; the wind up here was quite strong, and he had to hold onto the hood with one hand to stop it being torn away. The rest of his clothes were already soaked; the rain had been very light when they had first left Teirm that morning and he had thought it would clear before too long, but it had only grown heavier as they flew along the edge of the Spine with the sea to their right.

'_We shouldn't be out here,'_ said Rose.

'_I know.'_

They had been in Teirm for a month or so by now, at least nominally. Carnoc had chosen to leave most of his duties as governor to the previous incumbent, and only took a personal interest in the city's affairs when he decided they were important enough. The rest of the time he and Rose were out together, flying over the Spine for hours at a time. Searching.

It was far harder than it seemed. The Spine was the home of the wild dragons, who were fiercely territorial creatures and did not welcome an intrusion even by a rider. Most of them were cautiously friendly – or, at least, not openly hostile – once Rose had identified herself and her partner and spoken the ritual dragonish words of neutrality, but few of them were particularly interested in helping with the search. Still, Carnoc knew that none of them would tolerate Skandar's presence in their territories, no matter what shape he was in, so if a territory was claimed it meant he was very unlikely to be in it. They'd questioned many different dragons, with varying levels of success, but so far none of them had admitted to seeing anyone who fitted Skandar's description, though some of them had seen Skirnir and his clan, who had passed through the area some time ago, asking similar questions. Now Rose and Carnoc were simply exploring the edges of the Spine, where fewer dragons had territories, hoping to find unoccupied ground where Skandar could be hiding. So far it was proving pointless. Day after day spent flying over endless mountains, looking for someone who seemed to have vanished into thin air.

'_Well,'_ said Rose. _'If you agree that we shouldn't be out here, then why are we out here?'_

'_Because we have to find him,'_ said Carnoc, not for the first time.

'_If he was here, we would have,'_ said Rose. _'Every dragon for a hundred miles must know about him; if he was ever here, he'll have seen sense and gone somewhere else. Northward, maybe, or back to Tara.'_

'_Perhaps he's dead,'_ said Carnoc.

'_Oh yes,'_ said Rose. _'Like his father.'_

Carnoc was more than bright enough to see what she was implying. _'You're right. Why are you always right? Never mind. Maybe he's not here, but I'm not going to write to Murtagh and tell him we just gave up. Anyway, it's still a sight better than wasting time with paperwork and whatnot.'_

Rose beat her wings a little harder to speed herself up. _'I can't really argue with that. Still, if it keeps on raining like this…'_

'_Ah, we can cope with rain. Being wet won't kill us.'_

'_No, but it's time we turned for home,'_ said Rose. _'It's gone noon.'_

Carnoc thought wistfully of dry clothes and a hot meal. _'Good idea. Doesn't look like we're going to find anything today anyway.'_

The red dragon leaned, turning gracefully on one outstretched wing, and flew back the way they had come. _'We're not going to find anything _any_ day,'_ she muttered.

'_Stop that. He has to be found, Rose. He has to be stopped. This is our duty.'_

'_Oh yes,'_ Rose sneered. _'Our _duty._ Our sacred duty. We know about that, don't we, Carnoc?'_

'_I didn't know,'_ said Carnoc. _'Neither of us did. Don't be like that, Rose. Please.'_

Neither of them spoke for a while.

'_Gods…'_ Carnoc closed his eyes tightly. _'Gods forgive me. I would have made him King. We all would have. Nasuada was the only one who saw him for what he was, and we wouldn't listen to her. After Galbatorix disappeared… after he ran off and left us to the Shades for ten years, and I saw the others die fighting in his name… I swore I'd never put my trust in the wrong man again. I never trusted him after he came back, not even after what he did… I took the oath and all, like the others, and that was what was best, but after he left I was so glad to see him go. That boy's just like him; we were all right to think so. He's Galbatorix come again.'_

'_Because he can't be trusted,'_ said Rose.

'_Oh, he can be,'_ said Carnoc. _'He can be trusted, all right. Just like his father. He could always be trusted to do what he had to to get what he wanted, and that was all. Skandar wanted the throne, and Nasuada stood in his way, so he killed her.'_

'_And then he was a big enough fool to think he could escape justice and become King after it was done,'_ said Rose.

'_Perhaps,'_ Carnoc said softly. _'Or perhaps he plans to kill the rest of us as well. With us gone, who could stop him?'_

To his surprise, Rose responded with a twinge of anger. _'You're far too frightened of him, Carnoc. He's one man, and he has neither his father's cunning nor his power. And last time I saw him he was sobbing like a child. Don't honour him by giving him powers and motives he doesn't have.'_

'_But his father-,'_

'_-Is dead. Now stop it, Carnoc. Please.' _

His partner's unusual sharpness had taken Carnoc by surprise, and he said nothing as they flew on back toward Teirm, followed by the relentless drumming of the rain. Below, the sea churned as restlessly as always. Carnoc looked out over its grey waters. Somewhere beyond them was the land Ravana had ruled over before he had come to Alagaësia with his clan, to reclaim his birthland. Carnoc wondered if it had a name; as far as he knew it had only ever been known as "Ravana's country". Perhaps one day he and Rose could go there and see it for themselves.

He was about to suggest this to her when she suddenly slowed, head turning. _'What is it?'_

Rose growled to herself and flew lower. _'I can hear a dragon calling,'_ she said. _'Ahead.'_

Carnoc strained his ears, but failed to pick anything up. _'Calling how? A challenge?'_

'_I don't think so. Come; let's find out.'_ The red dragon sped up.

Carnoc watched the landscape as he listened, hoping to catch the sound of the dragon's calls. The edge of the mountains facing the sea was bare and rocky, full of big peaks that time and the wind had worn down until they vaguely resembled a row of old teeth. Sea birds nested on the cliffs, and here and there small ferny gullies showed up amongst the grey stone. It was bad country for dragons, and only a few of the younger or weaker ones lived out here, or the ones who had been driven out of their old territories by stronger rivals. It made flying here much safer.

'_I hear it now,'_ he said abruptly.

The calls were slightly muffled by the rain, but clear enough – definitely a dragon's voice. It carried quite well, and seemed to be coming from somewhere up ahead.

'_Not a challenge,'_ said Rose.

'_How can you tell?'_

'_The tone is wrong. It's too high, and not harsh enough. It sounds like a distress call to me.'_

Carnoc knew better than to question his partner's knowledge of dragon calls, and when they were closer and the sound became even clearer he quickly found himself agreeing with her. The cries had a thin, strained quality to them; they were closer to howls than to roars. It was the sound of a creature in pain.

They found the dragon soon enough. It was perched on the very edge of the mountains, stretched out on a bare knuckle of stone. Most dragons preferred to rest on their stomachs, but this one was on its side, its tail hanging limply over the edge and its legs drawn in under its belly. The uppermost wing was draped over its flank and its head was raised, mouth open to cry out.

Rose bellowed back. The dragon turned its head toward her and called yet again – a high, anguished sound that suggested a creature at the end of its strength.

Rose began to circle above him. _'He's sick,'_ she said. _'The cry means he needs help.'_

Carnoc peered down over her shoulder at the slumped dragon. _'You mean healing?'_

'_Yes. Magic healing.'_

'_Should we help him?'_

'_Of course we should!'_ Rose snapped. _'The dragons are our subjects as much as the humans are; it's our duty to help them when they ask for it. And we know about _duty_, don't we, Carnoc? Besides, if we help him, he'll help us.'_

'_Yes, of course.'_ Carnoc was examining the dragon's perch. It was more than big enough to accommodate him, but not much bigger than that. _'You won't be able to perch there too. We have to ask him to move.'_

Rose did so, and the dragon rolled onto his stomach and gathered his legs beneath him, trying to get up. But they slipped out from under him, and he fell back onto his side with a feeble groan, head lolling.

'_He's too weak,'_ said Rose. _'You have to go down there on your own, Carnoc. I'll fly overhead.'_

'_But what if he attacks me?'_

'_I doubt a dragon in that condition could do much,'_ said Rose. _'But if he does, paralyse him. You know the spell, don't you?'_

'_Of course.'_ Carnoc had learnt it very early on, and even Murtagh had admitted that he was gifted with magic.

'_Good. And don't worry; the wild dragons might drive us off their land but they're honour bound to help and respect us. He wouldn't dare.'_

That reassurred him a little. He waited while Rose flew down to land on the tiny beach at the foot of the mountains, and there climbed out of the saddle. Once he was on the ground she gently scooped him up in her talons and flew upward once again. This was a manoeuvre Carnoc had practised with her many times, but he didn't like it one bit. He hung passively from his partner's grasp, supported by her talons, and waited while she carried him to the dragon's perch and gently desposited him as far from the beast's talons as possible before flying on past.

Carnoc got up hastily, hand rising, but the dragon only peered at him and made no move. Close to, he was reassurred. The dragon was male and had iron-grey scales, and though he was about Rose's size he had a thin, starved look about him. Clearly, he was very unwell.

Carnoc reached out with his mind, and made contact as gently as he could. The dragon resisted for a moment, but then let him in. _'Hello,'_ said Carnoc, bowing. _'My name is Lord Carnoc. I'm here to help you.'_

The grey dragon got to his feet with surprising strength, turning about to face him. _'You're alone?'_

'_Aside from my partner Rose, yes. Now, what's wrong with you? I can heal you…'_

The dragon regarded him for a time. _'I'm very ill,'_ he said at last. _'I hoped you could help.'_

'_Ask, and I'll do what I can,'_ said Carnoc.

'_Wonderful,'_ said the dragon, and pounced. There was no warning whatsoever; the beast simply lunged forward, bowling him over, and before he could react or do anything except cry out he had been pinned to the stone, completely immobilised by his sharp black talons.

Overhead, Rose screamed and dived. The dragon swung his head at her, nearly impaling her with his horns. _'ENOUGH!' _he roared as she whirled about for another try, and he pressed down on Carnoc until pain crackled through his whole body. Rose screamed in unison with him as she felt it. _'Attack me, and he dies,'_ the grey dragon rasped.

Carnoc felt as if his ribs were broken. He couldn't move his arms or legs. He opened his mouth to try and recite the paralysis spell, but the dragon's talons were crushing the wind out of him and his voice would not come. Only his mental voice was left. _'Please,'_ he said. _'Don't. Let me go; I'm a friend, I'm a friend!'_

The grey dragon loosened his hold very slightly. _'I don't want to do this,'_ he said. _'But I warn ye now – if ye use magic, ye shall die at once. But I don't want to kill you,' _he added in a more normal voice. _'I need your help.'_

'_Help to do what?'_ Carnoc said instantly.

'_Well…'_ the dragon brought his snout down until they were face-to-face. _'I'm very ill, you see. A bad case of being falsely accused. Nearly killed me.'_

Carnoc stared up at him. It was the eyes that gave it away. _'You!'_

'_The pleasure's all mine, my Lord,'_ said Skandar. _'I heard you were looking for me. And now…'_ his tail lashed, spikes knocking chips out of the rock. _'And now I have some questions for you.'_


	19. Soul on Fire

**Chapter Nineteen**

**Soul On Fire**

Sif stood by Murtagh's side, ashen-faced, as the small procession came in through the entrance hall into the castle. Nobody spoke. The little column of priests walked slowly, bearing the wooden litter between them. It was far smaller than she had expected.

She wondered if she was going to start crying again. Her eyes were dry now. Maybe it was possible to run out of tears if you cried too much. But it would have to take a long time, and a lot of grief. Maybe too much for one person to survive.

While Murtagh talked to the leader of the little group, she pushed into their midst to examine the litter. It was surprisingly plain; made from planks of polished oak that had been carved with runes and stylised dragons. The priests carrying it did nothing to interfere as she ran her fingers over it, feeling its rough surface. She sighed and looked over her shoulder in time to see the leader of the column place a long wrapped bundle in Murtagh's hands. He accepted it with a quiet word of thanks, but his face was as still as stone.

Sif looked at the litter again, and though she knew what was inside it she felt nothing. Maybe she would cry later; she probably would, but only when she was alone or maybe with Saphira. She wished she could be more like Murtagh. Murtagh never cried. He hadn't cried after her mother died, as far as he knew, or when they'd gone together to visit her tomb. He hadn't cried for the baby either. And he hadn't cried a few weeks ago, when the letter came from Teirm saying that Carnoc was dead.

Murtagh gave the order, and the bearers lifted the litter again and carried it on into the castle, toward the crypts. Sif followed along behind them, lost in thought. It only made sense that the litter was small, really. By the time Carnoc's body had been found it was badly rotted, like Rose's, and there had been no option but to burn them both and send the ashes back to Ilirea.

Sif had known he was dead even before the letter had come. The moment she read the message that came before it saying that he had gone missing in the Spine, she had known he wouldn't be found alive. The Spine was a dangerous place even before the wild dragons returned, and now it was doubly so. Wild dragons were unpredictable and savage creatures, and the letter that had told the tale of Carnoc's discovery said he and Rose had almost certainly died at the talons of one. Rose had been covered in the marks of teeth, and part of her spine had been crushed. Carnoc had been worse; ripped almost into two pieces by his killer's talons.

_It was him,_ she thought dully as she followed Murtagh down into the crypts. _I know it was. He turned into a dragon and killed them._

Murtagh put his arm around her while the two urns were placed inside the tomb. Sif nestled against him, comforted by his strong presence. After the news had come, she had gone to him in tears, asking whether Skandar was going to kill her next. 'No,' he'd said, showing a sympathy toward her that had been gone for a long time. 'No, Sif. I'm here, and I'll protect you from him. If he comes here, I will kill him before he can get to you.'

She'd cried then, while he held her, but she didn't cry now. Not now.

She watched while Murtagh laid Carnoc's sword down beside the urn that contained his ashes, and knelt to place a bunch of roses beside it, and after that she stood aside and listened while her stepfather spoke the ritual words that were said at every rider's burial, as he had said them for Nasuada. _And one day someone will say them for me._

Now, they were three. Or, rather, two. Murtagh had sent several messages to Jarsha at Dras-Leona, commanding him to come back to Ilirea at once. His reply should arrive in a day or so, and Murtagh had vowed that if it didn't then he would go there himself. Sif dreaded that possibility. If Murtagh left, she would be all alone, with nobody but Saphira to protect her.

There had been very little news from Skirnir. Murtagh had visited Valdyr nearly every day, to keep the one-eyed dragon informed of everything that was happening in Ilirea, and once Dreyri had flown back from the Spine to see them all. But all the news she had brought was that the search had been fruitless so far. The clan had split up, and each was in a different part of the country, scouring every piece of uninhabited land he or she could find. They had questioned every wild dragon they met, and aside from one or two leads that had turned out to be false had turned up nothing. Dreyri had stayed only as long as it took to pass this information on, and then had flown away again to join Skirnir, who was heading Northward to search the Icelands. She seemed to think they would be likely to find something there. The Icelands were uninhabited, after all, and what better place could there be for a fugitive to go? Galbatorix himself had fled there during the war, or so the records claimed.

Murtagh completed the ritual, and lifted the slab into place without any help before reciting the spell to seal it. Sif watched the stone glow and meld together, and thought of the Icelands beyond Du Weldenvarden. Endless snowy plains and mountains, inhabited by bears and white wolves. _He's not there,_ she thought. _He wouldn't go there. He's here somewhere. Vanished, just like he did after he killed the King. Waiting for the right time to reappear. _

Murtagh touched her shoulder. 'Come on.'

They walked out of the crypt together in silence, making for the dining hall. Sif wasn't hungry, but she sat down at the table anyway and accepted a bowl of bacon soup.

Murtagh paid no attention to his own bowl. He poured himself some wine and emptied the cup in a single swallow. He drank the next one just as quickly, and refilled it a third time before turning his attention to his soup, which he stirred listlessly at and then pushed away.

Sif watched him carefully. She wondered if she should say something, but his face had a dull, shut-in look that she had come to recognise very well over the last few months. It was a look she couldn't talk to. It frightened her a little.

Murtagh emptied his cup yet again, and refilled it. He nearly dropped the flagon this time, but he didn't seem to notice the little splash of wine on the table. He pulled the cup toward him and stared into its depths, as if considering whether to drink it or not.

There was wine in Sif's own cup. She drank some, but the taste of it made her feel depressed and she put it aside and ate some soup. It was thin and too salty; it made her wonder if it was possible to make soup from tears. She put the spoon down.

'Can I go now?' she asked timidly, glancing at Murtagh.

He hadn't moved, and continued to stare into his cup as if he hadn't heard her.

'Murtagh?'

Murtagh stirred slightly at the sound of his name, and muttered something.

Sif moved a little closer. 'What? What is it?'

'I can't do this.'

Sif blinked. 'What?'

'I said I can't do this,' said Murtagh, not looking up.

'Can't do what?' said Sif.

'This,' he muttered, almost resentfully, as if he regretted having said anything. 'Any of it.'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'I'm not hungry either.'

He made a bitter half-laughing sound, and downed the wine. 'Look at this,' he said as he refilled the cup yet again. 'Look at me. I'm turning into my bloody father.'

'You're nothing like him,' Sif said stoutly. 'Morzan was…'

'…a drunken idiot who spent his whole life under the shadow of someone who knew how to lead,' said Murtagh. 'Yes. A follower, not a leader. The King's strong right arm, and a miserable old soak into the bargain. He used to hit my mother, and once he threw his sword at me and nearly killed me.' He took another swallow of wine. 'I hated him all my life, even after he was gone. When people said I looked like him, I wanted to die, I hated it so…' his expression twisted. 'But your own father was right. Right about me. When we fought on the Burning Plains and he said I'd become my father…'

'My father said…?'

'He was angry,' said Murtagh. 'Hysterical, shouting, blaming everyone but himself for what was happening. He would have said anything… the man was an idiot.'

Sif was shocked. She had never heard her stepfather talk like this before. 'My father never-,'

'He had a good heart, but he was a fool,' Murtagh said bluntly. 'A damned fool with a head stuffed full of arrogant fantasies. He never thought of anyone but himself, never thought anything through… when he made mistakes, he was never the one who suffered for them. Other people took his pain for him; they were like shields between him and the world. He thought he was a hero, but he was never a hero. Only a stupid boy who went too far too fast, and after that he turned into a monster.' Another swallow of wine. 'But he was right. He was right about… I keep hearing him. In my head. Accusing me. "You have become your father". I hear him at night, shouting.'

'You're _not_ him,' said Sif. 'You're not your father, Murtagh. Never.'

'I've become what he was at the end of his life,' said Murtagh. 'My father turned to drink because… he was broken. Inside. Broken down. Lived too long, saw too much. And he was never meant to be a Lord, or a leader, and neither am I. Look at me. Look what I've done. Look what I've done to us all.' His voice was low and flat; not angry or sad or impassioned, but full of dull defeat. When Sif heard it, she wanted to run to him and put her arms around him, but something held her back.

'It's not your fault,' she said. 'Murtagh, it's not.'

He finished the cup and groped for the flagon, but he couldn't seem to grasp the handle properly and slumped in his seat, one hand wrapped around the empty cup. It was a big hand, Sif thought suddenly; bigger than both of her own.

'You haven't done anything wrong,' she said. Now she was seeing him in this state it should have done something to banish her fear of him, but somehow it only made it worse. 'You're the Lord of Riders. You're master here.'

'Yes.' Murtagh's voice was full of bitterness. 'Yes, I am. Lord of Riders. Gods. I never wanted to lead, or rule. I was made to follow, not lead. Skirnir should have… he should have made himself King. I would have let him. I'd have… have done what he told me to. I was made to be a strong right arm, like my father. On my own I… I do it all wrong. Even… even Nasuada knew better. Your _father_ would have known better, but me…'

'It's _Skandar's_ fault,' said Sif. 'He did it, I know he did. He killed Carnoc.'

'I sent him away,' said Murtagh. 'I sent Carnoc and Jarsha away. Separated them. Made us vulnerable. My fault.' He lifted himself suddenly and pushed his cup toward Sif. 'I need another drink. Fill this up.'

Sif didn't dare argue with him. She dragged the flagon toward her and filled the cup to the brim with a fine vintage from the Redwyn vinyards.

Murtagh took it and drank deeply. 'I shouldn't have hit you,' he said, putting it down again carefully. 'I'm sorry. It was a cowardly… it was weak of me.'

'It's all right,' said Sif. 'I mean, I understand. You were scared. I was so close to him; he could have killed me.'

He peered at her. 'Why _were_ you there?'

'I wanted to help him,' said Sif. 'I'm sorry. I was an idiot. I've always been that way. I didn't _mean_ to be, but I was. I'm trying not to be any more…'

Murtagh smiled wanly and reached out to touch her face. His hand was rough and clumsy, but gentle. 'Poor Sif,' he murmured. 'You poor thing. You look so much like your mother, did you know that? But you've got your grandfather's eyes. I met him once; did you know that? It was just before he died. I was there when he was dying. He was old… bitter and scarred and grey, but his eyes… they were young. Blue, like yours. Your father didn't… didn't have blue eyes. He had brown, like our mother.'

Sif could feel tears itching behind those eyes. 'Murtagh?'

He took his hand away. 'Yes, Sif?'

'I…' she clasped her hands together, trying to hide her distress. '_Am_ I like my father?'

Murtagh sighed. 'Yes, Sif. You are.'

'But my father…'

'You're like him in… in other ways. Other ways, Sif. Other ways. Do you know what I mean? You look like him. A bit. Just a bit. More like your mother, but a bit like him. But you've got…' Murtagh was swaying very slightly, but he managed to take another mouthful of wine. 'You've got what he had that was good. His courage. His will. You ride well, too. On Saphira. Like he did. He was a better flier than me. And you've got… his sword-arm. You're faster than… than me, maybe. Stronger. Better. You could be great, a great swordmaster. And your magic. You're good with it, Sif. Very good. Changing your hair the way you do… it's a little thing, but it takes… takes skill. You see…' he waved his free hand vaguely. 'You see, you're great, Sif. A great rider. You could be… could be great. Greater than me. You were too young before, with all your dresses and things. I was never – I didn't take you seriously. Before. I told your mother before she died. Said you didn't act enough like a rider. Spent too much time dancing and making up stories and things. Your mother said… said there was no reason why you should. Said you wanted to be a lady, and if you didn't spend all your time with swords it didn't matter. No-one to fight any more, she said. No-one to fear.' He laughed. 'But you can fight him, Sif. I know… know you can.'

'Skandar? You mean Skandar?'

'Yes.' Another gulp. 'Yes, Skandar. He's dangerous, Sif. He's mad. Mad like his father could be, and savage like his mother. He's a dragon. A wild dragon in a man's skin. He'll kill you, Sif. He'll kill both of us. I should have killed him. If only Laela hadn't… gods damn her, she ruined everything. The weredragon had to die; he _has_ to die, before it's too late. But you can fight him, Sif.' Murtagh reached out suddenly and grabbed her hand, holding it tight. 'You _can,'_ he said urgently. 'You can fight. Like your father, and your mother. You're not a girl, you're a rider. A great rider.'

Sif had tried to pull free for a moment, but now she clasped Murtagh's hand with her free one, and held it. 'I know,' she said. 'I know I can. I want to be a rider; a _proper_ rider, like you, and Mother, and Father as well. I know Skandar's coming here. He wants to kill me too. I've been practising. With my sword. In my room, where you couldn't see me. I want to be ready for him. I'll kill him, Murtagh. I swear I'll kill him. To avenge Mother and Ergy and Silarae.'

Murtagh smiled at her. 'You sound like your father now,' he said, and let go of her hand.

_Eragon the Brat._ 'I'll fight like he would,' Sif vowed. 'Skandar won't murder me like Galbatorix murdered my father.'

Another wan smile, and a nod. 'Yes. That's how it should be. But you mustn't go looking for him, Sif. I know you wanted to. Do you still want to?'

'Yes,' said Sif.

'Well don't. Promise me you won't do it, Sif.'

'Why?'

'Because that's what he wants you to do,' said Murtagh. 'He wants you to do what your father would have done and fly off on your own. If you're on your own, even with Saphira… in a place you don't know… he'd have you. He'd have you then. Where he wanted. He'd kill you. I don't want you to die too, Sif. Not you. You're only a girl. And you're precious. There's so few of us now, Sif, so few…'

Sif finally made herself get up and go to him. He let her embrace him, and patted her feebly on the shoulder. 'It's all right,' she told him. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'I wish I could believe that,' said Murtagh. She let go of him, and he slumped again.

'Well believe it,' Sif said, almost fiercely. 'I won't leave you, Murtagh, not ever. And when Jarsha gets back here, he can help us decide what to do next.'

Murtagh had buried his face in his hands. He wasn't saying anything.

'Murtagh?' said Sif, suddenly concerned. 'What is it?'

Murtagh freed one hand and reached for his cup, but he knocked it over and wine spilled everywhere. His only reaction was to groan and cover his face with his hand.

Sif quietly righted the cup and put it out of his reach. 'You should go and get some sleep,' she said. 'I'll get the servants to clean this up, and maybe later we can go flying together. Saphira says she's bored… Murtagh?'

Murtagh hadn't moved.

'Murtagh?' Sif said again. 'Murtagh, are you all right?' She touched him on the shoulder, but lightly. 'Murtagh? Please, say something?'

Murtagh sighed. 'Sit down, Sif.'

She did. 'Murtagh, what's wrong?'

He rubbed both hands over his face, fingers ruffling his greying hair. 'Jarsha's dead,' he said at last.

Sif only stared at him. 'What?'

'He died a few days ago,' said Murtagh. 'In Dras-Leona. The bird arrived this morning. I didn't want to tell you, it was too soon, but…'

Sif thought of Jarsha's cheerful round face and eager voice, and the way he used to ruffle her hair. Only twenty-one, and always happy to see her. And now he was dead. Just like that, Jarsha was dead. But she felt nothing. 'How?'

Murtagh hadn't looked up. 'He died in his bedchamber. In the morning. Early. They heard him talking to someone, and the door was locked. Someone found it open later on. He was in there, on the bed. Already dead. The letter said it wasn't the work of a knife. It looked like… he'd been savaged to death.'

Sif's voice seemed to be coming from somewhere far away. 'And Skarlath?'

'He lived a few hours. Insane. Nobody knew how to talk to him, but he said something out loud. Just one word, over and over again. _Weredragon… weredragon… weredragon.'_

'Did anyone see him there?' said Sif.

'Yes. He was seen in the castle even as the body was being discovered. They chased him, but he disappeared and all the searches failed. Jarsha's body is coming back here now, and Skarlath's.' Murtagh made a strange hoarse sound that might have been a sob. 'This is my fault, all mine. They trusted me and I sent them to their deaths. We're the last riders, Sif. The last riders. They were coming back, but now they're dying again. Your father wanted to bring them back… Galbatorix did too. And I've failed both of them.'

'No,' said Sif. 'No, Murtagh…'

He stood up abruptly. 'Go,' he said. 'Go, Sif.'

She stood as well, suddenly afraid. 'Go where?'

Murtagh was swaying where he stood, and he grabbed the back of his chair to steady himself. 'Go to… I haven't… I haven't told Valdyr yet. About Jarsha. Go with Saphira, go talk to him, tell him. Tell him I'm sorry. Tell him Murtagh Morzanson was… did his best, even if it wasn't enough, tell him. Tell him to tell Skirnir he was right. We can't rule ourselves like Nasuada thought. We're weak; we destroy ourselves. We're too powerful. Men weren't meant to be this way. We can't live with it. Tell Valdyr…'

Sif went to him and let him lean on her. 'I'll tell him,' she said. 'Don't worry; I can do it, me and Saphira.'

'That's my girl.' Murtagh coughed. 'Help me to my room, would you? I need to rest.'

'Hold onto me,' said Sif. 'Come on.'

It wasn't easy; Murtagh was twice her weight, and he was much more drunk than she had realised. Several times he staggered so badly he nearly fell, and more than once she thought he was going to knock her over as well, but he managed to stay upright with her help – just barely. She got him to his room one way or another, and he let go of her and grabbed hold of the door, supporting himself on it.

Sif stood back, ready to dart forward in case he needed her again. 'You go in and have a rest,' she said. 'You need to sleep.'

Murtagh paused with the door half open. 'Come here.'

She obeyed, and he took her in a crushing hug.

'You're not an idiot,' he murmured. 'You're not, Sif. Never say that. You're good. A good girl. A good _woman._ And I know I'm not your father, but you're a daughter to me anyway.'

'And you're a father to me,' said Sif. 'You always have been. And you're my master, too. My Lord.'

'No,' he said. 'No, Sif. Not me. You can lead yourself. You know which way to go.'

Sif let go of him. 'Go and rest now,' she said.

He nodded vaguely. 'Yes, of course. And Sif-,' he grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. 'Take Thorn with you,' he said. 'He should be there too. In my place.'

'I will,' said Sif.

Murtagh smiled. 'Good. Go now, Sif.' He retreated into his room and closed the door behind him.

Sif climbed the stairs to the dragon roost alone, wondering what was wrong with her. She wanted to cry… Jarsha was dead. She should be crying, as she'd cried for her mother, and for Carnoc. But nothing was happening. She thought of Jarsha, dredging through all her memories of him and all the while telling herself that he was dead, but she felt nothing. There was a big emptiness inside her; it had been there since her mother died, and had grown larger when Carnoc died as well, and now it had grown larger still. Sometimes, when she lay awake at night, she wondered if it would grow so big it would swallow her up.

'_Saphira?'_

The blue dragon's voice was solemn. _'Yes, Sif?'_

'_I'm coming.'_

'_I know. We're both waiting for you.'_

When Sif emerged into the open air, Saphira came to her at once and nuzzled her in the side. _'Sif. How are you?'_

Sif looked out over the city. It was a bright clear day, and the wind ruffled her hair. _'We buried Carnoc and Rose,'_ she said.

'_How was the ceremony?'_

'_It was… good.'_ Sif picked up the saddle and started to strap it onto Saphira's back. _'We have to go and see Valdyr in the King's Wood. Murtagh ordered me to.'_

'_Why?'_

'_Jarsha's dead.'_ Sif could scarcely believe how calmly she said it.

Saphira bowed her head. _'I know.'_

Sif paused at that. _'How?'_

'_Thorn told me. But he asked me not to tell you; Murtagh didn't know if you were ready.'_

'_Oh.'_ Sif resumed doing up the straps.

'_Are you?'_ said Saphira.

Sif finished with the final strap and stood still for a time, thinking. _'Does it matter?'_

'_I don't know,'_ Saphira confessed.

'_Saphira, what's wrong with me?'_ said Sif. _'Why do I feel like this? I should be crying, but I can't.'_

'_Maybe… maybe you aren't ready yet,'_ said Saphira.

Thorn pushed forward. _'Don't worry about it,'_ he said, his rough voice surprisingly gentle. _'There are times when it's right to cry, and times when it isn't. They'll come when they're ready.'_

'_And what is it time for now?'_ said Saphira.

The red dragon went to the edge of the roost and spread his wings. _'Time to fly,'_ he said simply.

Sif climbed into the saddle. _'Yes. Valdyr is waiting.'_

They flew toward the King's Wood together, the two dragons side by side. Thorn was much bigger than Saphira, and flew with a steady grace that the younger dragon lacked. He had been in plenty of battles, and his rough old body was scarred in many places. Sif hadn't been fooled; she knew Murtagh had sent his partner with them to protect her, but she was comforted to have him there, and she knew Saphira felt the same.

They landed at the edge of the wood and walked in together. Valdyr was by the mountain, alert and ready for them.

Sif bowed to him. _'Valdyr. Lord Murtagh sent us.'_

Valdyr blinked his one eye. _'Hello, Sif. And you, Saphira, and you, Thorn.'_

Thorn inclined his head politely. _'I apologise on my partner's behalf. He is feeling unwell.'_

'_I understand,'_ said Valdyr. _'Lord Carnoc's death hit him hard. Did you bury him today?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Sif. _'Him and Rose. They're both resting now.'_

'_Good. That's good.'_ Valdyr sighed. _'Lord Murtagh believed Skandar might have killed him, but I still disagree. If he were still in the South we would have found him. Skirnir is convinced he's gone North.'_

'_He hasn't,'_ said Sif. _'He's not there, Valdyr. He's still in the South.'_

'_Oh?'_ said Valdyr, instantly affronted. _'Why do you say that?'_

'_Because he was here to kill Carnoc,'_ said Sif. _'And Jarsha as well.'_

The black dragon drew back. _'What? Jarsha? He's _dead_?'_

'_Yes. We got the message this morning. Skandar killed him, just like he killed Carnoc.'_

'_What makes you so certain it was him?'_ said Valdyr.

'_They found him in his room,'_ said Sif. _'Savaged to death, just like my mother. They saw him in the castle. And Skarlath lived long enough to say it was him.'_

Valdyr groaned. _'Oh no. No. Was this in Dras-Leona?'_

'_Yes.'_ Sif hesitated. _'Murtagh said to say he's sorry. He said to tell Skirnir that-,'_ she broke off, suddenly aware that Murtagh might not want Skirnir to know everything he'd said. _'He's very upset,'_ she said instead. _'More than I've ever seen him before. He thinks this is all his fault.'_

Valdyr drew himself up. _'This is not his fault; tell him I said so. Murtagh did what he thought was best. I have to go, and quickly. I have to find Skirnir and tell him to come back here immediately, and to hell with-,'_ he hesitated. _'He has to be here. We all have to be here. If Skandar has killed Carnoc and Jarsha, then he'll come here for you and Murtagh as well. You'll need us here to protect you.'_

_Like you protected my mother,_ Sif thought bitterly. But the prospect of having Skirnir and his clan back in the wood was a comforting one, so she said; _'Yes, that's a good idea.'_

'_Good,'_ said Valdyr. _'Is there anything else you have to tell me before I go?'_

Sif hesitated, but Thorn answered for her. _'No,'_ he said. _'Go, and fly as fast as you can. Tell Skirnir we have to put all our jealousies and suspicions aside. We have a common enemy now, and we must face him together.'_

'_I'll tell him,'_ said Valdyr. _'Good luck, Thorn. Protect your rider.'_ Without another word, he flew away.

Thorn turned to Sif. _'We should go now as well. Murtagh shouldn't be on his own.'_

Sif felt a sudden stab of apprehension. She scrambled into the saddle as fast as she could, cursing. _'Gods damn it! We shouldn't have left him on his own!'_

'_Calm down,'_ said Saphira. She took off, followed by Thorn. _'We'll be back there in no time.'_

'_Don't worry,'_ Thorn added as he rose into the air beside them. _'Murtagh can look after himself. I-,'_

Sif turned sharply in the saddle. _'Thorn? What's wrong?'_

The red dragon's mental voice was suddenly weak and confused. _'I don't know. Something. I feel… I feel…'_ he lurched in the air, bucking wildly, and his voice swung around into a panicked shout. _'No! What's happening? No!'_

Saphira flew at him. _'Thorn! Thorn, grab hold of me, let me keep you steady – NO!_'

Even as she tried to help him, Thorn turned in the air and fell straight back toward the trees. He caught himself just before he hit them, and went skimming out over the fields beyond, rolling and jerking. Saphira flew after him, frantically trying to keep pace, until he finally lost control and ploughed headfirst into the ground, throwing up heaps of dirt. Saphira circled low overhead, shouting his name, but he didn't respond. Sif, watching through her partner's eyes, saw him make an attempt to get up and then fall back.

'_Quick!'_ she shouted. _'Go down there, we've got to help him!'_

'_No,'_ said Saphira. She struck the air a great blow with her wings and flew toward the city as fast as she could. _'We have to get help,'_ she said as she flew. _'I'll drop you off on the roost; run inside and get Murtagh.'_

They reached the roost, and Saphira made a clumsy, stumbling landing. Sif had already begun to unstrap her legs from the saddle while they were in the air, and now she fell off sideways, hitting the stonework with a painful thump. She picked herself up and ran for the trapdoor.

'_Run!'_ Saphira told her. _'Run, Sif!'_

And Sif ran. She ran down the stairs as fast as she could, stumbling sometimes, but didn't stop or slow down until she was down them and in the corridor, and from there she ran. A few passing servants got in her way, but she ran on without even looking at them, knocking over the ones who got in her way. Nobody tried to stop her.

The door to Murtagh's bedchamber was closed when she reached it. She seized the handle and tried to turn it, but it was locked.

Sif kicked it. 'Murtagh! _Murtagh!'_

There was no reply.

Sif acted on instinct. She stood back and raised her hand. '_Brisingr!_'

Blue fire shot from her palm and hit the door, shattering it into pieces. She stepped over the wreckage and into the room, still calling. 'Murtagh! Mur-,'

Murtagh's room was dark; the window had been shuttered, and the candles snuffed out. There was a small fire burning in the grate, casting shadows on the wall.

Sif stood in the doorway for a long time, not even hearing Saphira's voice calling to her. Later on she wondered if she screamed, but she never believed she had. And besides, what was the point?

She only looked for a few moments. She turned her head away, averting her eyes from the dark shape that hung from the rafters. She could see the chair, lying on its side beneath it, and she studied that instead, taking in the padding and the pattern of the wood as if it fascinated her. But beyond that, thrown by the fire, she could still see the shadow swinging gently to and fro.


	20. Like Father, Like Son

**Chapter Twenty**

**Like Father, Like Son**

She knew what to do. Somehow, afterwards, she knew what to do. It was as if there was another person inside her, guiding her, someone who knew what should be done.

She called the guards and had them search the castle, even though she knew they would find nothing. The door had been locked, and there was no sign of a struggle. Servants came in to take Murtagh's body down; they cut the noose and gently laid him out on the floor. Sif forced herself to examine him, though she knew there was no point. There were no marks on him other than the ugly bruise around his throat that the rope had left, and his face was darkened.

Sif touched it gently, smoothing down his hair and stroking his cheeks. Murtagh had been a big man in life, but now he looked small, somehow.

'My Lady?'

Sif looked up at the servant addressing her. 'Yes?'

The servant hesitated, watching her warily. 'Should we move him now?'

Sif stood up. 'Not yet. Find a herbalist. Bring her here, quickly.'

'Yes, my Lady.'

Sif waited while they scurried off. _'Saphira? What about Thorn?'_

The blue dragon already knew what had happened. _'I'm with him now,'_ she said.

The quiet tone in her partner's voice was all the answer she needed. _'He's dead too.'_

'_Yes. He was dead before I got to him.'_

Sif nodded. _'It was… better that way,'_ she said. _'Better for him.'_

'_Sif… there was nothing you could have done.'_

'_Yes. I know.'_

'_I'm coming back now,'_ said Saphira. _'Come up to the roost. I want you with me.'_

'_No. Stay with Thorn. You have to burn him, Saphira. Burn him so he can be with Murtagh.'_

Saphira's mind radiated fear and anxiety. _'Sif, are you alone? Are there people around you?'_

'_Yes. Servants and guards. I'm safe.'_

'_But if Skandar comes-,'_

'_He won't,'_ said Sif. _'He didn't do this. Murtagh killed himself, Saphira.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

'_Yes. The door was locked from the inside and there's no other way in. Nobody saw anything or heard anything. He did it himself. Hanged himself.'_

'_Gods,'_ Saphira muttered. _'Gods. Murtagh. How could he?'_

'_He blamed himself for all this,'_ said Sif. _'He said he sent Carnoc and Jarsha to their deaths. And he…'_ she stopped, and shuddered. _'Gods. I'm such an idiot. I'm a blind, deaf idiot. Why didn't I listen to him before I left? All the things he said – he was saying goodbye! And then he sent me away, and Thorn, so we couldn't stop him! It was-,'_

Someone touched her on the arm, startling her so badly she nearly drew her sword, but it was only the herbalist.

The woman backed away hastily. 'I'm sorry, my Lady! I didn't mean to startle you-,'

Sif relaxed. 'You're here.' She gestured at Murtagh's body. 'I need… he needs to be prepared. For burial. Do it. Wash him, dress him. Go to the armoury; say I sent you and get some ceremonial armour for him. Red. It has to be inlaid with red.'

'Yes, my Lady.' The herbalist hesitated, and gently touched her arm. 'My Lady, is there anything I can do for you first? Something you need? A calming draught, maybe?'

Sif closed her eyes briefly before she turned away. 'No. I don't need you; he does. Go to work.'

After that she went up to the roost while everything was prepared, and sat there with her back resting on Saphira's flank, saying nothing.

'_We're the last,'_ Saphira said at last.

That was when Sif finally felt real pain blossom in her chest. _'Yes,'_ she said. _'I'm…'_

_The last rider._ She wanted to say it out loud, but it was as if the words died before they passed out of her mind and into Saphira's. _The last rider…_

Saphira lifted her snout to the sky, and began to howl.

Sif sealed the tomb on her own, witnessed only by Saphira, looking through her eyes. Murtagh had been washed and annointed with scented oil, and was now clad in a full suit of plate armour; gold, decorated with red enamel flames and studded with rubies. Sif had to use magic to lift him into the tomb, and after that she laid Zar'roc on top of him, lifting his hands and placing them over the hilt. The massive urn containing Thorn's ashes went just above his head, and she surrounded both of them with roses.

'Red,' she whispered to the silent form of her stepfather. 'Red for Zar'roc, red roses with red thorns. I thought you'd like that.'

Murtagh's visor was open, and she kissed her fingers and touched them to his forehead before she backed out of the tomb. 'I love you,' she told him. 'You were my father.'

More magic lifted the slab into place, but she stood and stared at it for a long time before she did anything else. Somehow, sealing it and saying the words felt too easy. And too final. If she closed the tomb now, she would be sealing Murtagh away; leaving him in the dark all alone, surrounded by cold stone and dying roses.

She touched her face. There were tears there, but she couldn't feel them coming. All her sobs were trapped in her throat. She looked up at the carving of Murtagh and Thorn. Their faces were stern, and seemed to be looking straight at her as if in reproach.

She heard a voice begin speaking.

'In life, as in death, let this man be remembered. Murtagh the Red of Gil'ead, son of Morzan, Lord of the Riders.' It was a woman's voice; soft and sad, but strong. 'Let him be remembered for all he was and all he did in life, and let his death be but a final chapter in a glorious book. May he find peace and rest, and may his memory be honoured by friend and foe alike. May none speak ill of him from hereon, for in death all but a man's virtues are forgotten.' The voice faltered a little, as if the speaker were about to cry, but it continued, now stern and forthright. 'Courage. Honesty. Integrity. Duty. Justice. Honour. These are the virtues of a rider, and the virtues which Murtagh, son of Morzan, upheld until his dying day. May peace embrace him now that his journey is ended, may his soul be bound for eternity to that of his dragon, Thorn, as it was in life, that the two of them be united in love until the very ending of the world itself. All this I beseech of the great power of life and death which binds us all, in the names of the great men and dragons of the past. Receive our departed Murtagh Morzanson, and be the balm to our grief.'

Sif fell silent and bowed her head. 'Goodbye, Murtagh,' she whispered, and raised her hand, pointing the silver oval of a rider toward the tomb.

The words came easily enough, and she chanted them softly, letting them shape and command the magic that came from her palm. The edges of the slab glowed blue, and silently melded to the stone around them until the tomb was closed and the carving completed. _Murtagh Morzanson, Lord of the Riders._

Sif didn't want to leave yet. She didn't want to return to the sun and the sky above, and leave Murtagh down here.

Very softly, she began to sing.

'_Where I go, I do not know, in shining sun or falling snow. Where I go, no-one can live, but I cannot live, and nor forgive. Where I go is an empty place, for I am haunted by your face. Lost to life, but not my heart, my love I beg you…_' her voice grew louder, echoing off the stone walls, as if there were a dozen other people there joining their voices to hers. She sang on for a time, trying to draw strength from that idea, but the other voices refused to stay. They faltered, stumbling over the words and becoming weak and strained, and she started to forget the words. 'Damn it,' she mumbled. 'Damn, oh d-,'

And then she was crying. She didn't even remember how it started, or feel herself collapse in front of the tomb. The empty place inside her opened wide, and she started to sob; great, gulping heaving sobs that shook her all over. She tried to make herself stop, tried to tell herself she was a grown woman, and a rider, but it was a struggle she had no chance at all of winning. Whatever had been holding her together since her mother's death abruptly fell apart, and she cried harder and harder, slumped against Murtagh's tomb and pressing her forehead into the rough stone until it hurt.

She cried for a very long time. And it was not just for Murtagh, or for her mother, or Carnoc or Jarsha, or for the knowledge that she was the last rider left in the world. It was for Skandar, too. Skandar, whom she had loved, Skandar who had betrayed her so utterly and completely. Her sweet Skandar.

'_You still love him,'_ Saphira whispered.

Sif jerked upright at that. _'I don't,'_ she said. And then. 'I don't!' aloud. She smashed her fist into the stone, again and again, until the skin on her knuckles broke and began to bleed. 'I DON'T! I d-,' but the rest of it was swallowed up by sobs.

'_Come to me,'_ said Saphira. _'Sif, please. Come. I need you with me.'_

Sif got up, moving slowly. _'Yes. I'm coming. I'm coming now…'_

The walk out of the crypt seemed to take a long time, but it was over in what felt like seconds and she was up on the roost. The afternoon was darkening toward night, and a powerful wind had blown up and tugged at her hair.

Saphira was waiting. _'Here,'_ she said gently, and scooped Sif toward her, holding her clumsily against her chest.

Sif huddled into her partner's warm, smooth scales, feeling the dragon's huge heart thudding beneath them. _'Saphira, what are we going to do?'_

'_We have to leave,'_ said Saphira. _'We have to go and find Skirnir.'_

'_No,'_ Sif said immediately.

'_Sif, we have to! He's going to come here, don't you understand? If we leave, he won't be able to find us. And Skirnir can protect us…'_

'_I don't care,'_ said Sif. _'I'm not leaving. He's not going to make me run away; this is my home. Remember what Murtagh said. He _wants_ us to leave. We've got guards here, and we're in a place we know. Out there we'd be alone.'_

Saphira radiated fear. _'But we're alone here, Sif. And he killed Jarsha and your mother while they were in a place they knew, with guards around them. He'll get in here, I know he will. He'll get in to us, and then…'_

'_No.' _Sif's fists clenched. _'I want him to find us. I want him to come here.'_

'_Sif-!'_

'_I want him to come,'_ Sif repeated. _'And I want him to find me. I'm going to fight him. Murtagh knew. He told me I could fight him, and win. I'm like my father. I'm strong, I know I am. I'll let him find me, and then I'll kill him. For Mother, and Murtagh, and Ergy, and all the others.'_

'_Sif, you can't-,'_

'_I can! Saphira, I can.'_

'_But you're not-,'_

'_Not strong enough?'_ Sif said sharply. _'Is that it? Is that what you wanted to tell me? Is it?'_

'_No, Sif. Don't. It's just that… you've never fought anyone before. _Neither_ of us have.'_

'_But we know how,'_ said Sif. _'You have claws and teeth, and fire, and I have my sword and my magic. We can do it, if we have to. And now we do.'_

Saphira re-folded one wing. _'Yes… but we shouldn't let him get to us. That would be stupid. Use your guards, Sif. They're under your command now. Have yourself guarded at all times. If he tries to get to you, he'll be captured or killed at once.'_

Sif did not believe that guards would be enough to keep Skandar away from her, but she nodded anyway. _'Yes, you're right. I'll do that. I'll need to be protected while I… while I rule.'_ The words felt strange and alien. _'I have to rule, don't I?'_ she added, with a touch of uncertainty. _'I mean… I'm the only one left, aren't I?'_

'_Yes,'_ said Saphira. She nuzzled her partner. _'You are the Lady of the Riders now,'_ she said softly.

Sif spent the rest of that day up on the roost, not wanting to leave her partner's side for an instant. She stationed guards at the bottom of the steps inside, and had her dinner brought up to her, but she didn't have much appetite. She had her sword with her, and whiled away the evening practising with it, and casting spells at the empty air. Saphira stayed by her, but her silver eyes were constantly fixed on the sky, watching for any sign of another dragon coming. When the sun went down, she and Sif stood side by side and watched its colours paint the horizon.

'_You should go in now,'_ Saphira advised once it was over and the stars began to come out. _'It'll be dark soon, and I think I smell a storm coming.'_

Sif sighed. _'I'll go, then.'_

'_Take care of yourself,'_ said Saphira, watching as her partner walked toward the trapdoor. Sif climbed down through it and into the tower without a word, and once she had gone Saphira laid her head on her claws and heaved a sigh. Once she had been perfectly content to sit up on the roost alone, sharing her partner's feelings and talking to her whenever she chose. But now the sight of her leaving put a deep fear into her, as if some part of her believed that she would never see her again. She almost called out to her to come back, but held herself back. Sif needed her to be strong now.

The last of the sunlight vanished, and the sky glittered with stars. Soon the moon would rise, but the wind remained strong and her senses told her the sky would begin to darken with cloud soon. Rain would be good; harvest-time was coming, and the fields needed water.

Saphira sighed. She wondered whether she and Sif would even live to see the harvest, or the one after that. Perhaps this would be their last night alive, if Skandar came…

_Stop that,_ she told herself sternly. _You're a dragon, and you have Ravana's blood in you. It would take more than a lone madman to stop you. And if he tries to hurt Sif…_

Saphira felt a growl begin to rumble in her chest, and she let it grow louder, until it sounded like distant thunder. Nasuada and Jarsha had died while they were indoors, away from their dragons. Silarae and Skarlath had been helpless to protect them from the teeth of the weredragon. Now Saphira vowed that she would not let the same thing happen to Sif. She would keep her partner beside her, keep her safe. If Skandar came, he would have to get through her first. And if that happened, he would die. She thought of him, picturing his elegant, sneering face and his smooth voice, so poisonous beneath its melodious accent and persuasive words, and the growl abruptly turned into a snarl.

_I will kill you,_ she promised the memory. _Come to me, and the last thing you feel will be my jaws snapping shut around your body. _

There was a thump from behind her. Saphira turned sharply, teeth bared, but the scent of the intruder reached her and she relaxed. _'Sif. What are you doing here?'_

Sif struggled up the last few rungs of the ladder and dumped a large bundle on the stonework before climbing out after it. _'I'm back,'_ she said unhelpfully.

'_I can see that. Why? Shouldn't you be in bed by now?'_

Sif came closer, visible as an outline in the darkness, lugging the bundle after her. _'Yes, I know. I'm going to sleep up here. I've brought blankets.'_

Saphira wanted to clasp her to her chest when she heard that. Nevertheless, she replied with; _'What, up here? In the cold?'_

'_Yes. I can shelter against you.'_ Sif paused. _'I mean… is that all right?'_ she added, sounding almost piteous.

Saphira had to laugh. _'Yes, of course. Here.'_ She moved closer, curling herself around Sif and lifting a wing to hold off the wind.

Sif gave a mental grin and started to lay out her temporary bed. It was quite elaborate; she'd brought a straw-stuffed pallet intended for camping, along with a blanket and a pair of pillows. She laid them down on the stone not far from the trapdoor, and snuggled underneath the blanket, her back resting against Saphira's flank. _'This is very comfortable, actually,'_ she remarked.

Saphira made a crooning sound in the back of her throat; the sound a mother dragon used to reassure her chicks. _'Sleep now,'_ she said. _'I will keep watch.'_

Sif fell asleep as the moon rose, no doubt exhausted by the events of the day. Saphira watched over her, feeling a fierce sense of protectiveness toward her, and love as well. She had known, she thought. Somehow, she had known that Saphira needed her close by. Or perhaps it was her need as well. The words of her father, Thorn, came back to her. _You are not master and steed, you are not siblings-in-arms, you are not mere friends. You are one. Not two but one; one inside, where it counts, deep inside. Two bodies, one soul. Two minds, one heart. One past, one future. Come what may, you are one. Always._

'Yes,' Saphira whispered aloud. 'One. Always.'

Sif heard Saphira's whisper as she drifted off. _One. Always…_

The words followed her into a dream. She was by the lake at Gil'ead once again, and the musicians were playing _Dance of the Dragons. _Her partner was a tall shape, masked by shadows, but she twirled and span in harmony with him, her heart pattering with excitement. The torches were burning, and their light glittered off the gems that decorated her gown; diamonds, sapphires, emeralds and rubies and chips of black onyx.

She danced on with her partner, thrilling to his grace and the assurance in his movements. His grip on her was firm but gentle, and soft, and that thrilled her too. As they turned about she saw the other dancers had stopped and were watching, and she laughed and danced all the more beautifully, head held high with pride.

Another turn, and she suddenly realised that the ground had grown soft beneath them; they had danced too close to the lake. She tugged at her partner's arm to warn him. _We're going to get wet. _The water started to lap around her ankles, and she faltered in her steps. _Look out! We're in the lake! We have to go back, before we get wet._

But her partner danced on, ignoring her, and his grip was suddenly hard and cold, hurting her. She struggled, but he dragged her into the lake further and further, until the water had reached her waist. _You're ruining my gown!_ she shouted. _Stop it!_ But her cries fell on deaf ears, and she watched in dismay as the gems dissolved in the water and were gone.

When they turned again she reached toward the people standing on the shore and watching her. _Help me! Get me out of here! _

They stared on, impassive. One was close enough to touch, and she grabbed a handful of cloth. _Get me out!_ But when the figure raised its head she saw it was her mother; her neck a raw and open wound, eyes leaking blood. _MOTHER!_

The water had reached her throat now, and her partner had vanished, but the lake was dragging at her, pulling her down, cold and smothering, and she saw that it was not water at all, but blood; clinging and sticky, full of ice. Soon it would be in her mouth and her eyes, soon it would have her… she managed to free one arm, and reached toward the sky, where shadows swarmed and floated. _Saphira! Saphira, help! HELP!_

Sif woke up with a jerk, heart hammering, and for a horrible, panic-stricken moment she thought the dream was real when she found her clothes were soaking wet. But then lightning flashed overhead, and reality came crawling back. It was pitch black, and a storm had blown up.

Shivering, Sif sat up. Her blanket clung to her, and she peeled it off with disgust and nudged Saphira's flank. _'Saphira?'_

The dragon did not respond, and a quick probe at her mind easily confirmed that she was still asleep. Sif was on the point of waking her up, but thought better of it. Her partner needed her rest.

She had brought Íssbrandr onto the roost with her, and stopped to pick it up before she staggered over to the trapdoor and wrenched it open. The rain was coming down in a flood; even in daylight she would have been almost blind. Thunder crashed overhead as she groped for the top of the ladder, found it and began to climb down.

It was warm and dry inside the tower, and she sighed and wiped the water off her face. There was a room directly beneath the dragon roost, now used for storing tack and other odds and ends; the door was ajar, and she saw lightning flash through the little window beyond. She hated storms. This one would probably go on for hours.

Cold and miserable, Sif turned toward the stairwell. It was dark down there, and she muttered a light-spell before she began her descent. Even so, the magical light only served to make unpleasant shapes on the walls. She could feel it sapping her energy, and wished she had eaten more before bed. She needed the strength it would have given her.

The stairs seemed very long. She stopped partway down to rest, leaning against the wall while she tried to wring some of the rainwater out of her hair. Her gown was dripping onto the floor, and she cursed herself. Murtagh would…

Recollection sent a lead weight thudding into her stomach. It was an almost physical sensation; she actually felt herself recoil from it, as if she had been struck. She had forgotten. _Murtagh was dead._ And so was everyone else. Everyone was gone except for her and Saphira.

Sif moaned softly. 'Oh gods…'

_Gone. _

'_Gone.'_

'Gone…'

Sif went cold. 'Who said that?'

Only silence replied, and she shook herself. Just her imagination. She moved away from the wall and went down another step, almost heedless of anything else in the face of the turmoil in her mind. They were all dead. Skandar had killed them, he'd killed them…

'All gone…'

Sif froze and grabbed hold of her sword-hilt. 'Who's that?' she said again.

'All gone,' the whisper came again.

For a second Sif nearly panicked, nearly turned and ran, nearly screamed. But something inside her rebelled. She drew Íssbrandr and held it in front of her, point downward. 'Show yourself,' she said. 'I command you. Show yourself!'

A bitter laugh came from somewhere up ahead. 'Of course, my Lady,' the whispering voice replied, and she saw it only a few moments later. Someone was appearing from out of the darkness, coming toward her.

Sif backed away slightly, raising the sword a fraction. But she already knew who it was.

Skandar stepped into the ring of light. He wore a different robe; still black, but musty looking. But other than that he was exactly as she remembered, his hair and beard meticulously neat, eyes two black pits set into his handsome face. 'Hello, Sif,' he said.

Sif raised the sword now, pointing it directly at his chest. 'Keep away from me,' she said, striving with all her might to stop her terror from coming through in her voice.

He gave her a wounded look. 'But don't you want to dance with me again, my Lady?'

The mocking tone was everything she needed. Her fear fled in a split second, and white-hot rage poured into her veins. 'You,' she snarled. 'You bastard. You murdering bastard. How dare you come here? How dare you look me in the face. After what you've done…'

Skandar raised an eyebrow. 'Oh. I take it you're referring to those friends of yours. I must say I'm surprised at your ingratitude. After all, you have me to thank for the fact that you're now the mistress of the riders. Oh…' he smirked. 'But of course. How could I be so stupid? You're the _only_ rider now. But I suppose you can be your own mistress, if you wish to be.'

'So you did kill them,' Sif whispered.

'Oh yes,' said Skandar. 'And I confess that I enjoyed it. It was a thrill… even a glory. Revenge is supposed to be ugly, but it tastes so sweet, my Lady. Sweeter than anything you could ever imagine. Yes, I killed them. All of them. Your mother was first, and your little brother. Then Carnoc. I changed into a dragon and tore him to pieces… Rose had to watch, but I sent her to join him not long afterwards. Then I killed Jarsha. It was far too easy, killing him. I hid myself in his room and attacked him from behind; he never even saw my face before he felt my teeth in his throat. Then Murtagh… Murtagh was even easier.' He snorted. 'The drunken fool. I taunted him; tormented him until his mind broke and he killed himself.' His eyes met hers. 'And now there is only you. Sif, the daughter of two cowards. Sif the Bratspawn. Tell me… will you be the easiest of them all… or the hardest?'

Sif had been backing away while he spoke, her rage faltering as his calm words filled her with despair. 'No,' she said. 'Now. How could you? How could-,' she stumbled then, and nearly fell, but she managed to regain her balance, and swung around to face him again as her feet found the flat ground at the top of the stairs.

Skandar continued to advance, moving slowly and unhurriedly but watching her all the while. Sif kept her sword pointed at him, but all her training had fled in the face of his stare. Every spell she could have used abandoned her, as if she had never learnt them at all, and all she could think of was the need to run away. The ladder was behind her now… if she could climb it… but he would only pull her back. She called out to Saphira, but got no response, and all the while he was there, watching.

'Aren't you going to fight?' he asked softly. 'Are you going to disappoint me, Sif?'

Sif began to sob. 'Why? Why?'

Skandar's eyes narrowed. 'You ask me why? You ask me why, after what your kind did to my parents? My people? After what you did to _me?'_

At that, Sif finally snapped. She gripped her sword in both hands and rushed straight at him, screaming. Quick as a snake, Skandar side-stepped her wild thrust. His hand lashed out, catching her by the wrist, and he wrenched the sword out of her hand with the other and brutally threw her to the floor.

Sif landed hard, against the wall, and as she struggled to get up she saw him advancing on her, terrible in the flash of the lightning. 'Is that all?' he asked. 'Is that it?'

'We didn't do anything,' Sif blurted. 'We didn't _do_ anything!'

'Liar!' he shouted. 'You failed! You betrayed me!' he bared his teeth, his two long canines glinting, sharp as daggers. 'I am the rightful ruler of Alagaësia,' he said. 'And I shall-,'

'No you aren't,' said a voice.

Skandar turned sharply, and Sif struggled to her feet as fast as she could while he was distracted. She was about to raise her hand, her mind struggling to choose a spell, when she saw something that stopped her dead.

The door to the store-room was open now, showing the shadows beyond. But as Sif watched, something moved. The shadows _moved_. They came forward, out into the light, and she saw something take shape, something come out of them, like a piece of night come to life.

It was Skandar.

Sif gaped. 'What?' she said. 'What? How? How could-? _Two _of you?'

The Skandar that had appeared from the shadows snarled. 'No,' he said. 'One of me. And one of him.'

The other Skandar growled at him. 'What are you here for, weredragon? Hoping to beat me to the kill?'

'No.' Skandar moved forward, putting himself between them. 'No.'

'Then what?' the other Skandar picked up Sif's sword. 'Speak quickly. I won't wait long.'

The second Skandar was easy enough to tell from the first; he was pale and thin, his eyes hollow. His robe was torn, his silver hair wild and bedraggled. He looked like a man on the edge of his strength. And, as Sif looked closely at him, she saw something else. Only one long canine jutted over Skandar's lower lip. The other was broken.

This Skandar stared at the first one. 'Who _are_ you?' he said. 'How are you doing that?'

The first one sneered at him. 'I have my methods. This face has been very useful to me. After all… this face has a name. Yours. And every murder I committed behind it traced itself back to you.'

The second Skandar started to growl, hunching slightly. 'You,' he rasped. 'It was you. _You_ framed me.'

'I'm surprised you care,' said the first. 'I would have thought you would want them dead as well, after the reception they gave you.' He gestured at Sif. 'When I kill her, there will be no-one left to stop you becoming King. That's what you _wanted,_ isn't it?'

'No,' said Skandar. 'What I want is to kill ye.'

'Oh, please,' said the first. 'You already tried it once and failed. What makes you think you can do it now?'

Skandar straightened up. 'Show me your face!' he commanded. 'Show me your _real_ face. Do it, or I'll burn it off.' Flames were licking between his teeth, black and silver.

The first Skandar appeared to consider it. 'Very well,' he said at last. 'If that is what you want. But I promise you… you will regret it.'

'Do it,' said Skandar.

The false Skandar stood very still for a moment, and then he began to change. He grew slightly taller, and the claws and sharp teeth changed to ordinary teeth and fingernails. The ears became rounded, the hair darkened, and then the face changed. It became older; lined and hard and bitter, and cruel. And then it was done, and someone else stood where Skandar had been.

Sif, looking on, let out a low moan of disbelief. Without even thinking, she reached out and grabbed hold of the real Skandar's hand.

Skandar had gone deathly white. 'No,' he whispered. 'No. No! You're dead! You're _dead!'_

'Oh, am I?' said Galbatorix.


	21. Master of Disguise

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**Master of Disguise**

Galbatorix Taranisäii smiled thinly. 'Skandar. You look so much like me. But you have plenty of your mother in you as well.'

Sif backed away. 'No,' she said. 'No, no, no, no, no…'

Skandar had begun to tremble. 'No,' he echoed. 'This isn't possible. You're dead! You're dead, I buried you! _I buried you!'_

'No-one can kill the Shadow That Walks,' said Galbatorix. 'Didn't I ever tell you that, Skandar?'

'But,' said Skandar. 'But…'

Galbatorix came closer. 'Skandar,' he said softly. 'Please. I'm alive. I came looking for you. Don't you remember me?'

Sif, looking on, felt icy bewilderment fill her chest. Now she saw them together, the resemblance between them was striking. Nearly the same height, both pale-skinned with angular features and identical pointed beards. And while Skandar had silver hair and his father had black, both wore it long and curly. But Galbatorix was older – not that he had any grey in his hair or beard, but there was age in his expression; in the bitter set of his mouth and the tired lines on his forehead. But his eyes were cold and shrewd, shining with barely contained malice.

Very slowly, Skandar took a step forward. 'Father,' he said hoarsely. 'I never… I didn't…'

'You didn't what?' said Galbatorix. 'You didn't love me? Skandar?'

'No,' said Skandar. 'I loved you, Father. Always.'

'Well then come here,' said Galbatorix. 'Come to me, Skandar. I missed you so much; please don't stay away from me.'

Like one in a daze, Skandar moved toward him. 'Yes, Father,' he said. 'I…'

Galbatorix started toward him with a sudden motion, and then the two of them were embracing fiercely. One silver, one black, father and son alike.

Only Sif saw Galbatorix's hand move. 'Skandar,' she said. 'Skandar-!'

Skandar didn't hear her. 'Father,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I swear I never-,' he broke off abruptly.

Galbatorix let go of him. 'Call that a taste of what you gave me,' he said softly, and pushed him away.

Skandar staggered slightly, staring at him. 'Father…' one hand went to his chest, clutching ineffectually at the hilt of the dagger embedded in his body. 'I didn't mean,' he said, and fell.

Galbatorix ignored him completely. All his attention was on Sif now, standing with her back against the ladder. 'So, Bratspawn,' he said. 'Now the little prince is out of the way, it's just you and me. Will you fight, or would you prefer to surrender? I may decide to kill you quickly.'

Sif could feel the rungs of the ladder pressing into her back, and she fumbled for one and managed to grip it. 'Leave me alone,' she moaned. 'Please, I haven't done anything.'

Pure hatred burned in Galbatorix's eyes. 'I killed your father,' he said. 'Killed him in front of your mother. Killed him with my own hands. I stabbed him in the stomach and he died in agony on the floor, screaming for mercy. I saw his blood and heard his screams, and I laughed. And your mother… I killed her son first, so she could see it. I slashed his throat from ear to ear and heard her scream. And then I killed her too, with the child's blood on my hands. But you… I left you. Left you alive. I always meant to kill you last, so you would live to see the others die around you, just as I saw my friends die one by one. I made you feel my pain. My pain, all my pain, and my misery, oh yes…'

He seemed to grow as he spoke, looming over her like a nightmare made flesh, pitiless and all-consuming. Before it, Sif finally broke and tried to flee. She turned and started to drag herself up the ladder, her mind screaming out to Saphira all the while.

But there was no escape. An iron grip closed around her ankle and wrenched her off the ladder, and she fell back, smacking her jaw on one of the rungs so hard that her teeth slammed together and a flash of red pain went through her head. She hit the floor with a thud that sent a burst of more pain through her spine and her shoulder. But her head struck something soft, at least.

Semi-conscious now, nearly paralysed with terror, she struggled to get up. As her eyes refocused, she realised that she had landed close to Skandar. The weredragon was still alive. His eyes met hers as he slumped down, and she saw her own mortal pain and despair reflected back into her own. They were both dying now.

Galbatorix stood over them, the sword pointed at Sif's throat. He was saying something but Sif couldn't hear it over the roaring in her ears. She could taste blood in her mouth, and her head was agony. She was losing consciousness.

'_SIF!'_

Saphira's voice came as if out of nowhere, breaking through into her mind and bringing with it a flood of terror. _'SIF! Sif, what's going on? Talk to me! SIF!'_

Sif started to wake up. _'Saphira, he's here, he's come for me, he's-,'_

_BANG._

The roost shook. Galbatorix staggered and turned to look up, cursing. Then came another almighty thud, and another, until dust and fragments of stone poured down from the roof. Saphira was trying to break in.

It was as if the realisation tore away the haze of confusion and terror that had clouded Sif's mind. Without even thinking, she scrambled upright and raised her hand.

The word came to her in a split second. _'Brisingr!'_

A blast of blue flame shot from her palm and hit Galbatorix in the back, hurling him violently across the room. The sword flew out of his hand, and Sif dived to grab it. Her fingers closed around the hilt and she turned to strike, but in that moment there was a deafening sound of breaking stone, and wind and water came pouring in. Saphira's talons ripped into the stone for a second time, demolishing half the top of the roost, and then reached through the hole. _'Sif! Sif, quickly, come closer, let me pull you out of there!'_

Galbatorix was lying amid the rubble, groaning as he tried to get up. Sif's terror returned at the sight of it, and she thrust her sword into her belt and ran toward Saphira's groping talons.

Something grabbed at her leg, and she stopped and looked down. It was Skandar. He had pulled himself up on a chunk of stone and was reaching toward her, one hand clutching the dagger. 'Please,' he moaned. 'Sif, help me.'

Sif glanced over at Galbatorix. He was getting up, starting toward them, black and terrible. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and that was enough to end it.

Saphira made one last thrust of her foreleg, and her talons closed around Sif's waist, tipping her forward. As she fell, her outflung hand caught hold of Skandar's arm.

Galbatorix raised his hand and hurled a spell at them, but too late. Saphira pulled, and Sif was dragged out into the open air and away as the blue dragon took flight. The magic hit the rubble at the edge of the gaping hole and created a vivid green explosion that sent fragments of stone hurtling out over the city.

Saphira flew upward. _'Sif! Sif, what should we do?'_

'_Fly!' _Sif shouted back. _'Fly, Saphira! Get us away from here as fast as you can! NOW!'_

Saphira asked no questions. She turned herself and fled away, heedless of the raging storm, Sif and Skandar dangling from her talons.

Skandar was a dead weight, but Sif didn't let go of his arm. She held on with both hands, urging Saphira to fly as fast as she could all the while. Panic had hold of her, and all she could think of now was to get away; away from Ilirea, away from the ghastly spectre that lived there now, and the death she had been about to die by Skandar's side.

They flew for a long time. Saphira could barely see where she was going; forced to navigate by the occasional flashes of lightning from overhead and constantly buffeted by the wind. But nothing came in pursuit, and after a time the storm began to die down a little. She finally came down to land somewhere well away from the city, in an isolated spot enclosed by trees, though she carefully deposited her burden on the ground before coming down to land.

She spread her wings over Sif to protect her from the rain. _'Sif, are you all right?'_

Sif huddled on the wet ground, breathing heavily. She was tending to Skandar. The weredragon lay on his back, blood soaked into his robe along with water.

Saphira recoiled instantly. _'Him! Sif, what in the gods' names-?'_

Sif looked up at her. _'He's hurt.'_ She muttered a word and summoned up a light which illuminated both of them. She touched Skandar's face. 'Skandar. Can you hear me?'

Skandar was as pale as death, but his eyes were open. 'Sif.' His voice was low and rasping, strangled by pain.

The dagger was still embedded in his chest. Sif took hold of the hilt and prepared to pull it out.

Skandar's hand came up and batted weakly at hers. 'No,' he said. 'No, don't. Don't take it out.'

'Skandar, I have to,' said Sif.

Skandar's face contorted. 'No,' he said again. 'I'll bleed. Bleed to death.'

'But I can heal you,' said Sif.

'_Stop this,'_ Saphira interrupted. _'Sif, what are you doing? This man killed your mother!'_

'No.' Sif laid a hand on Skandar's forehead. 'I have to know, Saphira. Skandar… _Skandar!'_

Skandar's eyes had closed. 'Sif,' he mumbled.

'Skandar, listen,' said Sif. 'I have to know. Did you do it? Did you kill my mother? Or Carnoc, or Jarsha?'

His fingers curled, grasping at nothing. 'No. No. Never. I wouldn't. Couldn't.'

'Prove it,' said Sif. 'Say the words.'

'Don't know… words. Teach… teach me, Sif.'

Very quietly, Sif told him the words. _I did not kill your mother. _At first it seemed Skandar couldn't hear her; he was silent for a long time after she had said them, eyes closed.

Sif felt for his hand, and clasped it in hers. 'Skandar?'

Very gently, he squeezed her fingers in his own. 'Again,' he whispered. 'Say it again.'

She did, repeating them several times, and when she had done he nodded ever so slightly.

'_I… did… not… k… did not… did not kill… your… did not kill your mother_.'

Sif tightened her grip on his hand. 'Say it again!'

Skandar convulsed and shuddered. _'I did not… I did not kill your mother,'_ he said, his voice just audible now. But he had said the words, and she had heard him, and he had not faltered.

Sif let go of his hand and took hold of the dagger. 'Then you're innocent,' she said, and wrenched it out.

Skandar's eyes snapped open, and he screamed. Blood bubbled out of the terrible wound in his chest, and Sif nearly panicked, but Saphira was here now and she knew what to do.

'_Waíse heill!'_

Blue magic gathered around the edges of the wound, weakly at first but brighter and brighter. Sif kept it going, putting all her energies into it until the bleeding stopped. Her heart lifted as she saw the flesh begin to knit back together. She had never healed an injury this serious before, and it took more energy than she had imagined, but she continued to sustain it until it faded of its own accord and she sat back, gasping for breath.

Skandar stared up at her with glassy eyes. 'It hurts.'

Sif could feel herself trembling with exhaustion as she slumped down beside him. 'It's all right,' she said. 'It's all right. I've healed you. You're all right.'

Skandar made a brief attempt to sit up, but he soon fell back. His breathing was low and rasping and he suddenly started to cough; horrible, hacking coughs that shook him all over before he slumped, groaning.

Sif touched his face; his skin was cold, without the inner fire she had come to know so well. _'I don't understand,'_ she said, to Saphira. _'Why isn't he better? I healed him.'_

Saphira brought her snout down to sniff at the motionless weredragon. _'You healed the wound on the outside,'_ she said gently. _'There may still be damage inside him.'_

'_Then what should I do?'_ said Sif.

'_There's nothing you can do,'_ said Saphira. _'It would take someone with special training in healing magic to do anything more than you've already done.'_

Sif shook Skandar by the shoulder. 'Skandar. Skandar, please, wake up.'

Skandar's eyes were closed, but he seemed to hear her. 'It hurts,' he said again. 'Can't… can't breathe.' He coughed again, harder, and his breathing became more laboured.

'Skandar, I don't understand,' said Sif. 'Why were you in the castle?'

Skandar opened his eyes. 'Hiding.'

'Yes, but why? If you weren't there to kill me…'

He shuddered. 'Came to… came to find you. Knew you were in… danger. Came to protect you.'

'_Protect_ me?' said Sif.

Skandar had fallen silent, his eyes still half-open and watching her. Sif grasped his hand and held it. 'Please,' she said. 'Don't die. Don't die, Skandar.'

He made a harsh, hacking sound that might have been a laugh. 'Do my best,' he said.

Sif realised there were tears on her face. 'Don't die,' she said again. 'Please. I can't lose you too, Skandar.'

But Skandar did not reply.

'_What happened to him?'_ said Saphira. _'If he didn't kill your mother, who did?'_

'It was Galbatorix,' Sif sobbed. 'He's here. He's alive. He killed Mother, and the others, he told me so. And he stabbed Skandar… how could he do that? How could he kill his own son?'

'_No.'_ Skandar's grip tightened on her hand. 'No,' he said again. 'It's n- it's not him. It can't be him. Can't.'

'But Skandar, you saw him,' said Sif. 'We both saw him. My mother said he was a master of disguise… how could it not be him?'

Skandar's head turned away. 'He's dead.'

'But he's come back before,' said Sif. 'When people thought he was dead. How can you be so sure? Skandar?'

Skandar moved slightly. To her dismay, she saw that there were tears on his face. She clasped his hand to her chest. 'Skandar? Say something. Please, stay awake. How do you know your father's dead?'

Skandar coughed, and cried out, convulsing. Sif tried to hold him still, but he convulsed again, more violently, legs jerking and kicking as if he were being strangled. Awful sounds came from his throat.

'_Hold him still!'_ Saphira commanded. _'Do it! He has to lie still!'_

Sif put her hands on Skandar's shoulders and held him down, putting her full weight into it, hating herself for doing it. He continued to thrash for a time, but then he stilled once again.

Sif patted his hand to try and soothe him. 'There,' she said. 'There. You're all right. Keep still. Just rest, and tell me why that wasn't your father.'

Skandar's eyes had opened more fully now. In the darkness they looked like a pair of black holes in his face. 'Because… because I killed him,' he whispered.

Sif let go of his hand. 'What?'

But Skandar said nothing more. He had become very still, and this time he did not react when Sif called to him, or when she tried to shake him awake. She searched for a pulse, but couldn't find one. Desperate, she slapped his face and shouted at him, trying to make him wake up, but nothing happened.

Sif backed away. 'Oh gods, I think he's dead.'

As if that was a signal, Skandar's eyes snapped open and he started to convulse again. Sif tried to restrain him, but this time he did not relax again. His back arched away from the ground and he started to thrash, mouth opening wide, though no sound came out. He broke out of Sif's grasp with a sudden twist and started to jerk, his entire body twisting and flailing. When Sif tried to interfere his claws caught her on the arm, cutting a line of deep slashes through her sleeve and into the flesh beneath. After that she backed away, clutching at the injury and watching as Skandar continued to move; his eyes wide open and staring in horror.

'_What's happening? What's happening to him?'_

Saphira drew her away with her paw. _'I don't know…'_

'_He's going to hurt himself,'_ said Sif. _'He's going to…'_

Skandar gave one more almighty jerk and then suddenly went rigid. And then the noise began. It began with a muffled, gristly crack, coming from somewhere inside Skandar's body. Skandar twitched again, and the sounds increased – wet, tearing, ripping sounds, mingled with crackings and breakings that turned Sif's stomach. Skandar's eyes rolled back in his head, and he started to scream; awful, high, tortured screams.

'What-?' Sif began.

But after that she saw it start to happen. Skandar's pale skin darkened and then split, as a million tiny spikes burst through. His robe tore, and two long, bony shapes erupted from his shoulderblades as he continued to scream, though now his cries were beginning to take on a rough, distorted edge.

Saphira pulled away, shielding Sif with her tail. _'He's changing!'_ she exclaimed. _'Sif, don't look…'_

But Sif had to look. She couldn't make herself look away. She watched in horrible fascination as Skandar's body began to warp and change. His limbs and torso thickened and lengthened, bones breaking and muscles tearing. The wings shaped themselves, sending out long fingers of bone and flesh with skin stretched between them. His skull became deformed, the top flattening and the face bulging forward into a snout while six long horns sprouted from the back. She saw his boots fall to pieces as his feet became paws, and his fingers merged into black talons. His screams turned into a howling roar, and finally it was complete and the great grey dragon rolled onto his side, jaws sagging open to show rows of bloodied fangs.

Sif hesitated a few moments and then ventured closer. 'Skandar…?'

The dragon lifted his head and looked groggily at her. _'Is that you, Sif?'_ Skandar's voice, a little shaky but perfectly alert.

Sif stopped. _'Yes.'_

Skandar struggled to his claws and staggered over to her. _'Are you all right?'_

Sif couldn't stop herself from laughing. _'What? Am _I _all right?'_

Skandar lay down heavily. _'Well… are you?'_

'_Yes, of course. Skandar, what in the gods' names happened?'_

Skandar tried to bring his snout down level with her, but Saphira came forward, putting herself in the way. _'That's close enough,'_ she snapped. _'I don't trust you, weredragon.'_

Skandar paused, staring at her, and then backed away and lay down in a resigned kind of way. _'Fine. Sif…'_ he lifted his head to look at her. _'Thankyou for helping me. I'll be fine now. You can leave me if you want to.'_

'_What happened?'_ said Sif. _'Why did…?'_

'_It's a reflex action,'_ said Skandar. _'I didn't mean to scare you, but I didn't have any control over it. The dragon shape knows when… it rises. When I'm weak or upset, or afraid. Or when I'm hurt. My body reshapes to try and protect itself. That wound would have killed me in my other shape, but in this one I can survive it.'_

'_Do you feel better now?'_ said Sif.

He nodded. _'I'll be all right.'_

Sif smiled weakly. _'I'm glad.'_

'_You are?'_ he sounded genuinely surprised. _'Why?'_

'_I didn't want you to die,'_ said Sif. _'You didn't kill my mother.'_

'_No. Nor any of the others, I promise you. Sif, where's Murtagh? Is he all right? I thought he could fight back against that… thing, but…'_

Sif looked away. _'He's dead.'_

'_What? How?'_

'_He killed himself,'_ Saphira interrupted. _'Only a few hours before you came. Sif, I want to know what's going on. Who killed the others?'_ She glared at Skandar. _'Or do _you_ know, maybe?'_

'_No,'_ said Skandar. _'I swear, I don't. But it's not my father. That man was not my father.'_

'_But then who was he?'_ said Sif.

'_I don't know. An impostor of some kind. He pretended to be me, and then he pretended to be my father.'_

'_Is this true?'_ said Saphira.

'_Yes,'_ said Sif. _'I thought he was Skandar, but… his teeth. I saw his teeth. He had both of his… fangs? But Skandar only has one now. The other one's broken. But I thought it was him until-,'_

'_I came,'_ said Skandar. _'I was hiding in my father's old bedroom, under the roost, and I heard you out there. I'd sworn not to show myself, but I knew you were in danger…'_

'_And when I saw him,'_ said Sif, _'I didn't understand what was going on. But Skandar told… him… to show his real face, and he turned into Galbatorix. And Skandar believed it was him, and he stabbed him and then tried to kill me.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Skandar. _'He fooled me. But it can't have been him. Even if my father were alive, he wasn't _like_ that. He'd never…'_

'_You killed him,'_ said Sif. _'You said you killed him. Why?'_

Skandar closed his eyes. _'He's gone. That's all you need to know. He's gone and he's not coming back, and that man in Ilirea was not him any more than he was me. But whoever he is, he killed the other riders and he wants to kill us too.'_

'_But what about you?'_ said Saphira. _'Where have you been all this time?'_

'_Hiding,'_ Skandar said briefly. _'Trying to survive. It wasn't easy. Everywhere I went, people were after me. I knew if I was captured again I was doomed.'_ He growled under his breath. _'When I found out why I had been arrested, it was clear to me that someone had framed me. I vowed that I would find out who had done it and kill them, no matter who they were. But it was difficult. Your friend, Carnoc, came looking for me in the Spine. I saw him and lured him into a trap. Once I had him, I forced him to tell me everything he knew. I didn't hurt him,'_ he added hastily. _'But I threatened to. In the end he was glad enough to help me, but his information was useless. I let him go and fled. A few days later one of the wild dragons told me he had been killed only a few hours later. I went to Dras-Leona and hid there near the lake… I slipped into the city in human form, hoping to get to Jarsha, but I overheard that he had been murdered – supposedly by me. Someone was killing riders, and I knew that they were probably going to come for you and Murtagh next, so I flew back here as fast as I could, to warn you before it was too late.'_ Skandar sighed. _'For a while, I believed it was Murtagh. But he wasn't in Dras-Leona, or the Spine when it happened. And now he's dead… I'm sorry, Sif. I came too late. And I didn't manage to rescue you either. But Saphira did a fine job of rescuing both of us. I owe you my thanks too, Saphira.'_

Sif listened carefully. _'So… gods. We wasted all that time hunting you, when it was someone else all along.'_

'_Yes. One thing is obvious; he hates me as much as he hates you.'_ He looked upward and flexed his claws. _'It wouldn't surprise me if he's looking for us now… the rain probably delayed him, though.'_

Sif drew her sword. _'I'm going back. I'll kill him.'_

'_Oh? Like you did just now?'_

'_That was different,'_ Sif snapped. _'Saphira wasn't there to help. This time I'll be ready. I can't let him hunt me down like some kind of animal. If he killed the others, I'll kill him.'_

Skandar nodded slightly. _'Yes. It's your right; more so than it is mine.'_

'_I'll go, then,'_ said Sif, and turned away toward Saphira.

'_Sif, wait.'_ Skandar had stood up and took a few steps closer to them, limping in one foreleg. When Sif turned around, she could see a ragged scar among his chest scales.

'_What is it?'_ she demanded.

'_I'll come with you,'_ said Skandar. _'If you're going to do this, you'll need my help.'_

Sif watched him for a few moments. _'No,'_ she said at last. _'I'll do this myself. I don't need you.'_

'_Sif, you shouldn't-,'_

But Sif turned away. _'I mean it. Leave me alone.'_

Skandar growled. _'Don't be childish. Look, just trust me-,'_

'_Trust you?'_ said Sif, turning back suddenly. _'Like I trusted you in Gil'ead? Like I trusted you in the King's Wood? How _can_ I trust you? All you've ever done is lie to me, and I'm tired of you treating me like an idiot. I'm not an idiot, understand? I'm Lady Sif, I'm the Mistress of the Riders now, and you're nothing. You're just a bastard weredragon with a foreign accent; you don't rule anything.'_

'_Sif, stop it. Gods damn ye, stop it.'_

'_No,'_ Sif shouted. _'I'm the rider, and I say we go. Without you. Go away, Skandar. I never want to see you again.'_

Skandar had pulled away from her during her tirade, and when it ended he stood still for a moment. His jaws opened and his hackles rose; she could see his talons tearing at the ground and his tail lashing. The very beginnings of a growl started to rumble in his chest, and Saphira shifted her position ever so slightly, bracing herself for an attack. But Skandar abruptly relaxed and sat back on his haunches. _'Go then, rider,'_ he said in icy tones. _'And good luck.'_

'_Don't you be sarcastic at me,'_ said Sif.

'_I'm not,'_ said Skandar. He paused and raised a forepaw, holding his palm out toward her in the manner of a rider before he closed his eyes and started to chant softly. _'Callineb chan Sarff bod eiddo. Callineb chan Reibia bod eiddo. Callineb chan 'n bybyr Eryr. Lais chan Alarch bod eiddo. Lais chan fêl bod eiddo. Lais chan 'r Heula chan 'r Sêr.'_

'_What does that mean?'_ Saphira asked sharply.

'_I was blessing you,'_ said Skandar. _'Now go. And Sif…'_

'_Yes?'_ said Sif.

Skandar had opened his eyes and was watching her impassively. _'When I was arrested. When they were taking me to the dungeon and you tried to stop them…'_

Sif felt her heart beat faster. _'Yes?'_

'_I told you I loved you,'_ said Skandar. _'You remember that, don't you?'_

'_Of course I do,'_ said Sif. _'Skandar, if you're trying…'_

'_It was a lie,'_ Skandar said softly. _'I was desperate. I thought that if you believed it you might help me. I never felt anything for you, understand? Not at Gil'ead, not in the King's Wood, not at any of the times we were together. And I was never going to make you my Queen.'_ He snorted. _'You, ruling the Empire? My father would have been horrified.'_

Sif felt as if she had been kicked in the guts. _'Skandar, don't. Stop it.'_

But Skandar only bared his teeth at her. _'You're a little fool, Sif. You're your father's daughter, every inch of you. Go and get yourself killed if you want to, but I'll have nothing more to do with it. Goodbye.'_ He turned and limped away, rain slicking his scales. His wings unfurled, and he flew off without another word, vanishing into the night.


	22. In The North

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**In the North**

Skandar's wound was more serious than he had realised. He flew some way through the driving rain, barely able to see where he was going but determined not to stop. Every wingbeat sent pain rifling through his chest and spine, and breathing was agony, but he kept going anyway, determined to put as much space between himself and Sif as he could.

He was burning with rage, and his fear only served to make it worse. But he knew that it was more than just anger that had made him leave. His mind was full of his father's snarling face, the eyes full of cold and terrible hatred, as if they were looking at some kind of vile creature, like a plague rat that had to be put down. They were eyes that did not love him, or recognise him. _It's not him,_ he thought, again and again. _It's not him. He's dead. I killed him. I murdered him. I stabbed him through the heart, and I let the snow bury him along with Mother. They made me tell them I was a murderer, and now they know. It's not him. Nobody comes back from the dead._

But no matter how many times he repeated it to himself, he could feel a tightness in his chest and in his throat. He had spent so many years haunted by memories of his father. For a long time he had refused to go anywhere near a mirror. Seeing his own features resemble those of Galbatorix more and more as he grew up had been agony, and even now his reflection made him wince. Every mirror contained his father's eyes; cold and calculating and accusing. _Murderer. _

Lightning flashed. Taken by surprise, Skandar bucked in the air. The storm wind snatched his wings and flung him sideways, and for a few horrible moments he was helpless, thrown this way and that by the gusts. He wrenched his wings back downward and managed to regain control, but he knew that the longer he stayed up the more likely he was to be hurt. But landing could be equally dangerous. If he alighted somewhere in the middle of a town or a village he could be attacked, or at the very least recognised, and he had no idea where he was. The only option was to keep going.

He forged on, fighting back his pain and exhaustion, praying that the storm would begin to clear. Thankfully, after a time it did. He had managed to fly beyond its edge, and the wind and rain gradually died down. After that the going was much easier, but he knew he couldn't keep it up much longer. He needed to rest, and he desperately needed food. The last few months living as a fugitive had taken a heavy toll on him, and more than once he had gone several days without eating anything. If he was going to heal, then he needed food and plenty of it.

By midnight, as the clouds cleared and revealed a full moon, Skandar finally gave up and made a clumsy, stumbling landing in the middle of an isolated field. He had intended to explore it on foot for a while and hopefully find water, but the moment his talons hit the ground he pitched forward, landing with a thud on wet soil and grass. He lay there for a while, gasping for breath. Once he had recovered from the shock, he quickly realised that he wasn't going to get up. His left foreleg was trembling uncontrollably, one wing refused to fold, and his lungs felt as if they were burning. He lay sprawled on the wet earth, his right foreleg folded beneath him and the other outstretched and shaking, and began to cough. He could feel a gurgling in his chest, and the horrible thought crossed his mind that there could be blood in one of his lungs. If there was, it could kill him.

Every cough felt like another stab wound to the chest. He tried desperately to control it, but it went on and on until he felt as if he were going to lose consciousness. Nausea started to rise in his throat. Finally, as the coughing gave way to an exhausted wheeze, he lurched forward and vomited.

There was very little in his stomach to bring up, but he continued to retch dryly for a time before he slumped down where he lay and blacked out.

He woke up the next morning in the rain, and in agony. A grey, watery dawn had come, and the wet grass seemed to glow. Skandar coughed weakly and rolled over onto his side. Every breath was shallow and ragged, but he didn't have the energy to cough as violently as he had the night before. Breathing was a little easier on his side, but as he lay there the panicked thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be lying like this. A dragon only lay on his side if he was seriously ill or hurt. Or dying.

_No,_ he told himself sternly. _Stop that. You're not dying. Don't be pathetic. You're a King's son, and you're a dragon. Some of the time. _

He forced himself to roll onto his front, and dragged himself to his feet. It was difficult, but he managed to stay standing, using his tail and wings to balance. _That's right. _

Determined to stay awake and upright for as long as possible, he staggered off through the field, looking for food and water and hoping to find some clue that would let him know where he was.

The answer to both problems came soon enough; he took a random direction and followed it until the ground started to slope downward. Beyond the edge of the rise, he could see something interesting and made for it. It turned out to be a low stone wall, the kind farmers used to mark the boundaries of fields and meadows. And, huddled up against it and watching him in abject terror, were a knot of soggy-looking sheep.

Skandar grinned to himself. Finally some luck.

There were at least twenty sheep, but Skandar was in no mood for half-measures. He hemmed the flock in with his tail and wings and killed every single one of them with a few easy blows of his talons. That done, he settled down to eat. He usually preferred not to eat anything while he was in dragon form; the part of him that was still human hated the taste and smell. And it made him feel like an animal. But he was starving, and changing back now was impossible. If he became human again he would probably be unable to walk; the dragon shape was far stronger, and it wanted food and lots of it. He shut off his human side and let the animal feast, gorging itself on bloody flesh. It ate the bones, too, easily crushing them between its teeth and growling all the while under its breath.

Afterwards, stomach bulging with food, he lay down where he was and slept. He woke again hours later and ate more, and then slept once again. It was exactly what he needed.

Skandar stayed in the field for several days, sustained by the dead sheep, which he continued to eat even after they began smelling bad. Two shepherds did eventually come looking for them, but they fled when they saw the big grey dragon sitting hunched by the wall, baring its teeth to snarl at them.

Skandar didn't care that they had seen him. The longer he stayed a dragon, the more irrelevant humans seemed to him. It had always been that way, and deep down he was sometimes afraid that if he wore one shape for too long he would become trapped that way. But just now he was happy to stay a dragon. The man was frightened and distressed, and badly wounded. He didn't have the strength to survive this. But the dragon was powerful and stoic; he knew what to do, and he wasn't afraid of anything, and he didn't have nightmares or worry about things he couldn't see. It was easier to be a dragon.

After a few days the worst of the pain had gone, and he could breathe more freely. He was putting on weight, too, and his scales were regaining some of their lustre. And though he watched the sky constantly he never saw anyone looking for him.

By the time the last of the sheep were gone he knew it was time to go. He'd already risked enough staying in one place for as long as he had. But he decided to wait another day.

That night he curled up against the wall and watched the stars. The moon was a sliver now – a _tharian lleaud. _The dark elves believed the crescent moon was a sign of protection.

Skandar sighed. By now Sif must have made it back to Ilirea. He wondered what had happened to her there, and whether she had survived. _Damn ye, girl, I only wanted to help,_ he thought bitterly. _Why was it so hard for you to understand that? _

Well it didn't matter. If Sif wanted to make this her battle, then so be it. He'd done enough. More than enough.

He flew Northward the next day, flying as high as he could and doing his best to ignore the stiffness in his wings. They would limber up eventually.

Alagaësia passed below him, brown and green, studded with villages and towns. When he had first seen it, he had been surprised by how _big_ it all was. In his mind, the land of his birth was much smaller than Tara and far more densely populated. But this was Alagaësia; a land of endless open plain and rainy mountains. Alagaësia, so much warmer than Tara, and yet so hostile and bitter. Alagaësia, where his father had been born, where he had grown, fought, struggled and suffered. Once he had believed that he belonged there.

Skandar turned his gaze on the horizon, and flew on.

The rest of his journey Northward passed easily enough. He stayed in dragon shape, landing as far from inhabited areas as he could. But he continued to take livestock to feed himself, and ate as much as possible. He still had healing to do, and he needed to keep up his strength as much as possible.

Finally, after an entire day spent flying over endless farmland, he found himself passing over a place he recognised. Gil'ead, and, just beyond it, the vast dark shape of Isenstar Lake. Skandar circled over it for a while, venturing as low as he dared. The space by the lake where Sif's dance had happened was empty now. No tables, no musicians… just an empty patch of dirt, trampled flat. Skandar watched it, remembering how he and Sif had danced the Dragon Dance together. A simple dance, even a crude one, compared with the complicated lunar dances the dark elves danced at their own celebrations in the great Temple of the Moon, and yet Sif had danced it so well that she had made it seem more complex than it was. Skandar sighed unhappily. _You should have stayed with your gowns and your dances, Sif. You weren't meant to be a warrior, or a leader. _

The thought gave him a bitter pang, and he turned toward Du Weldenvarden and flew on. The Spine was beyond it, and on the other side the frozen North. Beyond that was the sea, and Tara.

Du Weldenvarden was a vast forest; he spent much of that day flying over it and eventually saw that he wouldn't make it to the Spine by evening. But now at least he was in uninhabited territory – the accursed light elves that had once lived there were all gone now.

By evening he was near a range of smaller mountains that preceded the Spine, and decided to stay there for the night. There looked to be plenty of good perching spots there. He alighted on one and sat there for a while, resting and surveying the landscape. The sun was going down, but he could see something terrible below him. A vast patch of forest had been destroyed. He could see the charred stumps of what had once been huge trees, and the ground between them was bare of vegetation. It was a horrible, ugly place, a dead place. Not even animals seemed to want to go there, and Skandar felt a strange unease as he looked down at it. His dragon half didn't like this place, and his other half didn't like it much either. He wondered what had happened here. A fire, obviously, but…

His new roost was excellent, however. He examined it appreciatively. High and rocky, studded with caves. A dragon place. There _was _a smell of dragon about, he realised. Only faint, but it could mean there were other dragons in the area. He growled to himself. Of _course_ there would be other dragons here. A place this ideal was bound to be taken territory already.

Skandar made a decision. He lifted his head skyward and roared as loudly as he could, sending out a call. If he was on another dragon's territory it would draw them to him, and he could apologise and beat a hasty retreat. It would be much better than being happened upon unexpectedly and attacked while he was off-guard.

He followed the roar up with several more and then waited, listening for a response.

When the reply came, it was so close at hand that he reared up in shock. Another roar came. It was issuing from inside one of the caves, and as he watched, another dragon emerged and took to the air.

Skandar opened his own wings, cursing internally. The dragon was his size and looked strong, and it was already in the air and therefore at an advantage. He called out, altering the tone to signal that he was non-aggressive, and to his intense relief the dragon replied in a similar fashion and flew down toward him. He backed away, bracing himself, and the dragon landed on a perch a short distance away – close enough for them to see each other, but out of striking range.

For a moment the two of them regarded each other. The other dragon was female. She had beautiful silver scales like a million burnished shields, but there was a curiously raggedy look about her. She was thickset and strong, with heavy shoulders and wide wings, but her horns were chipped and her scales were grubby, and one of her front talons was broken. But her eyes were sky-blue, and were bright and friendly as they looked at him.

Skandar dipped his head politely to her. _'Hello. I'm sorry I entered your territory; it was an honest mistake. I'll go now.'_

The silver dragon cocked her head. _'Oh, don't worry. Ain't my territory, I'm just sleepin' here. I thought it was yours, that's all.'_

Skandar paused at that. _'Oh. So there's no-one here?'_

'_Not likely. This is the Stone of Broken Eggs. Dragons don't nest here no more, not as far as I know. A cursed place, they call it. I don't like it much meself, but it's good enough to stay in one night.'_

'_I see. Don't you have a territory?'_

'_No,'_ said the silver dragon. _'Well I do, aye, but I carries it with me, see? So, who are you?'_

'_I'm, er… oh, no-one much,'_ said Skandar, cursing himself for not having thought of a false name to use yet. _'Who are you?'_

'_Oh, no-one much,'_ the other dragon mimicked, but playfully. She looked him up and down. _'You're a fine lookin' dragon, you are. Not like any I've ever seen. Where'd you come from?'_

'_An egg,'_ said Skandar. _'Is there any food around here?'_

'_Plenty, if you know where t'look,'_ said the silver dragon. _'Look, I'm tired and I ain't in the mood to bandy legs with you all night. D'you want to join us? There's room, an' we'd like the company.'_

'"_We"?'_ Skandar repeated, suspiciously.

'_I'm with a friend,'_ said the silver dragon. _'Don't worry, she ain't big.'_

'_I'm not sure,'_ said Skandar. _'It's nice of you to ask, but…'_

'_Well, don't let me force you,'_ said the silver dragon. _'I'm headin' back. Join me if y'feel like it, it's all up to you.'_ That said, she flew off.

Skandar watched her retreat back into the cave. She didn't look aggressive, or sound it either, though she didn't talk like any dragon he'd ever met before. But that didn't mean it couldn't be a trap.

Still… nobody except Sif and Saphira had seen him in dragon form while knowing who he was. Even Carnoc hadn't recognised him. And none of the wild dragons had taken any interest in the fact that he was wanted for murder. Why should this one be any different?

Skandar made up his mind. The silver dragon had sounded genuine enough, and had shared her mind with him in order to talk to him. He hadn't detected any trace of deceit or hostility in her, and he had learned to trust his ability to sense other peoples' intentions. It was something all dark elves were gifted with. And it would be good to have someone to talk to.

He flew toward the cave in the gathering darkness, and landed just outside its entrance. Unwilling to rush in without knowing what to expect, he poked his snout inside. The cave was bigger than he had thought; big enough to hold three dragon his size. The silver dragon was there, curled up, but the other person with her made him start. It wasn't another dragon, but a human – a middle-aged woman, sitting cross-legged by a fire.

The silver dragon had already seen him. _'There you are,'_ she said cheerfully. _'Are yer gonna come in, or are yer gonna sit there all night, blockin' the entrance?'_

Skandar ventured a little further. _'Why is there a human with you?'_

The woman had also seen him, and she got up to greet him. Then, to his shock, she made mental contact with him. _'Hello, pleased to meet you. Don't worry; we're not looking for trouble.'_

Skandar looked at her, then at the silver dragon. _'You're a rider?'_

'_That's right,'_ said the woman. She bowed. _'Senna Baenborn, from nowhere in particular.'_

'_I'm Skuld,'_ the silver dragon added. _'C'mon, come in.'_

Skandar took a few more paces into the cave. _'I don't believe this,'_ he said. _'Where did you come from?'_

The woman smiled ruefully. _'Ain't many people know we exist, an' we prefer to keep it that way if it's all the same to you. What's your name?'_

'_Oh, I'm…'_

'_He's nobody,'_ Skuld chimed in. _'Said so himself.'_

'_Is that so?'_ said Senna. She put her hand on the large, worn battle-axe that lay by the fire.

Skandar looked at her. She was at least fifty, and big for a woman. She had the kind of heavy frame that looked built to carry a lot of excess fat, but in fact she was quite lean; she had a weathered, leathery look about her, though her hair was more grey than brown and her face was lined. She had one brown eye; the other was covered by a round leather patch.

'_I'm Seft,'_ he lied at last, choosing a name at random.

Senna gave him a suspicious look, but she sat down again. _'Well then, welcome to our cave, Seft. C'mon, make yourself comfortable.'_

Skandar entered the cave proper and crouched down by the fire. _'What are you two doing here?'_ he said. _'I thought all the riders were-,'_

'_-Yes, yes, I know, we're supposed to be servin' the King. That's our business,'_ said Senna.

'_What?'_ said Skandar. _'But the K-,'_ he stopped. _'Where have you been all this time?'_

'_Everywhere,'_ Skuld said proudly. _'Senna and me went off travelling together the same day we were bonded. We went East, an' then we went North. We've been places nobody's visited in hundreds of years, seen all kinds of things.'_

'_And now we're visiting Du Weldenvarden,'_ Senna nodded. _'I always wanted to see where the elves used t'live. Turned out to be a dump, though.'_

'_There was a city here once,'_ said Skuld. _'That big burnt patch out there used to be Ellesméra, did you know that?'_

'_The city of the light elves,'_ said Skandar.

'_What? Oh, yeah. Elves. Never heard 'em called that, but this was their home.'_ Skuld shook her head. _'This was their place, 'till the Shades came in. Destroyed them all. There's no elves in Alagaësia any more, far as I know.'_

Skandar resisted the urge to say "good". _'So you haven't been in… in the King's territory for a long time?'_

'_Not for years,'_ said Senna. _'That's one reason we asked you in here. Thought maybe you'd have a few tales to tell… I wouldn't mind knowin' what's goin' on back there, but I'd rather not be seen by anyone who might tell the King.'_

'_Why?'_ said Skandar. _'Have you done something?'_

'_Oh no,'_ said Senna. _'We've done nothin'. But if the King found out we was, you know, around, he'd make us swear oaths an' whatnot. We fancied a little more freedom.'_

Skuld grinned. _'She says that, but I reckon there's more to it than that.'_

Senna shrugged. _'Maybe, who cares?'_ she said, a little more sharply than necessary. _'But the way I see it is I served one King, and that was enough.'_

'_Galbatorix?'_ said Skandar.

'_There's only ever been one King of Alagaësia for me,'_ Senna said quietly. _'Just him.'_

'_You served him?'_ said Skandar. _'You served Galbatorix?'_

'_King Galbatorix,'_ Senna corrected. _'I did that. Worked for him for more'n thirty years, since I was just a girl. An' if he ever came back, I'd serve him again. I got nothin' against this new King, but… well that's just the way it is.'_

Skandar felt a lump in his throat. _'He must have been proud to have a rider like you working for him.'_

Senna paused and then laughed. _'Oh, I wasn't no rider when I worked for him, gods no.'_

Skandar eyed the axe. _'What were you, then? His guard?'_

'_His tailor,'_ said Senna. _'I made all his robes for him, I did. I even-,'_ she leaned forward conspiratorially, _'I even got to touch him a few times. When I measured him for a new robe.'_ She waved a big freckled hand. _'These hands touched a King, aye, and that's somethin' I've been proud of all my life. Bloody stop that!'_

Skuld was sniggering. Senna hurled a rock at her, hitting her on the snout, and the silver dragon desisted, still grinning.

Skandar ignored her. He was watching Senna. _'You were close to him, then,'_ he said.

She nodded. _'I was, or as close as anyone ever could be. So…'_ she sat back. _'What can you tell us about the goings-on in the Empire since we've bin away?'_

'_Many things,'_ said Skandar. _'But… I don't think you'll like them.'_

Skuld lost her grin. _'What do you mean? What's happened?'_

'_The King is dead,'_ said Skandar.

'_What?'_ said Senna. _'What are you-? When? How?'_

'_Poisoned,'_ said Skandar. _'They don't know who did it. But there's more. Listen…'_

They listened as he recounted the deaths of the riders, one by one. As he talked, he could see the horror and disbelief in their faces, and feel it echoing back into his mind from theirs. He said nothing about his own role in what had happened, and finished by saying that Sif was the only rider left.

Senna had twisted her fingers in the cloth of her tunic and was clutching it tightly. _'So they're all dead?'_ she asked quietly.

'_Other than Sif, yes,'_ said Skandar.

'_Gods,'_ said Skuld. _'Gods. Who could have done this? Why?'_

'_I don't know,' _Skandar lied.

Senna's face was pale. _'I remember Murtagh,'_ she said. _'I remember when he was just a boy. I made his clothes for him, I did. He was such a sad boy. Born sad. And he hated the King. I always wished he didn't. He was Morzan's son, Morzan was the King's best friend, and the King cared for Murtagh like he was his own… did everything to look after him. But Murtagh ran away. It must have broken his heart. Gods, Murtagh… that poor boy…'_

It must have been at least twenty years since Murtagh could have been called a boy, but Skandar felt miserable. _'Yes. What happened to the others… it must have been more than he could stand. And now it's just Sif.'_

'_The Brat's daughter,'_ Senna muttered. _'All on her own. How is she going to live?'_

_Not for very long,_ Skandar thought. _'Well that's how it is,'_ he said, more harshly than he had meant to. _'They're dead. You and Sif are the last riders left.'_

'_Gods,'_ said Senna. _'If the King was here, he'd know what to do. If only I knew where he'd gone, I'd go after him an' ask him to come back. We need him again, like we always did.'_

Watching her, Skandar felt an unfamiliar urge to put his arm around her and comfort her with touch. But of course he couldn't do that in dragon form, and the dragon didn't understand the urge. It was bored by her distress, and it wanted to leave.

He made a sudden decision. _'Senna,'_ he said. _'Can I ask you something?'_

She looked up distractedly. _'Yes? What?'_

'_Do you have any extra clothes with you?'_ said Skandar.

'_What sort of a question's that?'_ said Skuld.

'_Yes, I do,'_ said Senna. _'Why?'_

'_Well could you get them out?'_ said Skandar.

'_Why?'_

'_Because I need to borrow them,'_ said Skandar. _'Please, just do it.'_

She sighed and rummaged in a bag. _'There's not much. Just this tunic and a pair of leggings.'_

'_They'll do. Look away, please.'_

Skuld was starting to look irritable. _'Why? What are you going to do?'_

Skandar shrugged his wings. _'Suit yourself.'_

He shrank back as far as he could, cramming himself sideways into the entrance, and started to concentrate.

It was hard; harder than usual. His body had grown used to this shape, and had developed an inertia over the last week or so. And the dragon did not want to retreat. But Skandar had done this countless times in the past. He pushed the dragon downward inside his mind, and let the man rise, willing it to spread into the rest of his body.

But the dragon fought back. He started to tremble slightly as he shoved at it, trying to calm its sudden rage. _Go. Go now, go, I don't need you now, go. GO!_

The dragon finally submitted, but he thought he could hear it roaring somewhere inside his head. Moments later the change began.

Skandar went rigid, and then began to convulse, moaning deep in his throat. The wings shrank, the horns and scales receded, and he shrank, becoming small and thin and weak. From somewhere far away he thought he heard Senna cry out in shock, but there was nothing he could do now. His body was out of his control. He felt it twist and distort, wrenching itself this way and that. His ears were full of the cracking and tearing of his own bones and muscles, and he ignored it as well as he could. The change would be over soon.

And then, without warning, pain hit him. Not the pain of the change, but another pain.

A pain in his chest.

Skandar screamed and pitched forward, landing on his face. He had arms now, not forelegs, and he tried to get up, but there was no strength in him now, and he lay there, gasping for breath, waiting for the change to resume.

But nothing happened. He rolled onto his side, suddenly aware that he could control his body again. It was over.

But it wasn't.

'Do you need help?'

Skandar groaned softly. Senna.

'Here.' A hand took him by the shoulder. 'Let me help you up…'

He let her lift him – she was surprisingly strong. She helped him into a kneeling position and then crouched beside him, touching his face. Skandar reached out clumsily with a paw that had become a hand, and managed to grasp her arm. 'I… need…'

Senna let out a cry of shock and suddenly pulled away. Skandar raised his head and looked at her, and saw her stumbling backward, staring at him in horror. 'What…?' he managed.

Senna stood still for a moment, and then fell to her knees. 'Sire,' she breathed. 'Oh my gods. Sire. It's you. You've come back.'

Skandar felt some of his dizziness recede, and carefully touched his face. It was human again; no snout or scales. 'No,' he gasped. 'No, not.'

Senna stood up. 'Sire, what's wrong with you?' she said. 'What's happened to you?'

Skandar ran his hands over his body, searching frantically. His hair was there, and his legs were human, but he knew everything wasn't all right. The change was incomplete.

Scales covered his upper arms, along with much of his chest. He touched his head and found a pair of tiny horns poking through his hair. There were scales on the back of his neck and down his back as well, and dragon spikes still ran the length of his spine. On his chest, the wound hurt appallingly. He touched it and groaned. It felt like it hadn't healed at all.

He realised there was something moving behind him, and realised something else.

He still had a tail. And there were two little nubs on his shoulder blades where his wings had been.

Senna was still staring at him. 'Sire?' she said again. 'Are you all right?'

Skandar managed to raise his head. 'I'm n- I'm not him,' he said. 'I'm not.'

She appeared to pull herself together. 'Gods. Just… just wait a moment, Sire, I'll just go and…' she ran back to her back and opened it, pulling out a blanket. She laid it out by the fire and then came back, carrying the bundle of clothes. 'Here,' she said, offering them to him. 'Here, put them on, Sire.'

Skandar took the tunic and pulled it over his head. It was hard; the cloth snagged on his horns, and the moment it was on the spikes on his back punched straight through it. Senna helped him put on the trousers, but they refused to go on properly – his tail got in the way. But she said nothing about that, and half-led, half-carried him to the fireside and made him lie down on the blanket. Skandar did so without any argument; the change seemed to have taken all his strength.

Once she had made him comfortable, Senna brought water. 'There,' she said once he had drunk. 'Do you feel better now, Sire?'

Skandar coughed. 'Don't,' he said. 'I'm not him. I'm not the King.'

Senna looked uncertain. 'But… you look like him, Sire.' She glanced at Skuld. 'He does.'

'_He does,'_ Skuld agreed. _'But… but not like him.'_

'What d'you mean?' Senna demanded. 'It's him. It's King Galbatorix.'

'_Stop that,'_ said Skuld. _'Calm down. Look at him! He's too young, Senna. The hair is wrong. And Galbatorix didn't…'_

'Well who are you, then?' said Senna, to Skandar. 'If you're not the King, who are you?'

'I'm Skandar,' said Skandar.

Her expression changed. 'Sk- oh gods. Of course. Of _course!_ Skuld, it's him! It's the little prince! He didn't die; he grew up!'

Skandar looked up at her dully. 'You… knew about me?'

'Of course I bloody did!' said Senna. 'I was there when you was born, S- my Lord. I was there in the castle when your mother had you. I even saw you a few times. You was so tiny, but I remember you. Your little hands. They had claws on 'em, just like the Queen. But everyone said you died in the war. An' I never saw you after that… where were you?'

'Hiding,' said Skandar. _Inside the egg. Waiting._

She managed a watery smile. 'Prince Skandar. My Prince. You look just like your father, you know. Just like him. But you look like your mother too. But… how did you do that? What's wrong with you? Why are you…?'

A fresh burst of pain went through Skandar's chest. 'I'm a w- a weredragon,' he gasped.

'_A what?'_ said Skuld.

'Weredragon,' Skandar repeated. 'I… change. Change my shape. Man… dragon… dragon… man.'

'But the scales,' said Senna. 'The tail…'

'Stuck,' said Skandar. 'The change didn't… something went wrong. I'm stuck. Between shapes.'

'Will you be all right?' said Senna.

'I don't know. It's n- never happened before.' Skandar felt the tail flick. That tail, thinner and smaller now than when he was a dragon, sprouting out of his man's body like an extra leg. He lay back and tried to concentrate, willing the change to resume, but nothing happened. His heart beat faster, and the pain in his chest peaked sickeningly. He gasped and groaned, too distressed by the feeling to worry about the botched transformation.

Senna was looking at him with concern. 'You're hurt.'

Skandar nodded. 'Changed too soon. My chest…'

She touched it carefully, feeling the scar. 'I see it. What should I do?'

'Don't know,' said Skandar. 'Heal it.' He cringed again. 'Magic. Use magic – _argh. _Quickly. Heal it, do something…'

Senna was wringing her hands. 'I dunno how! I dunno what to do – I've never healed with magic, I never had trainin'… what'm I gonna do? Can't you do it?'

Skandar grabbed her arm. '_Waíse heill_. It's _waíse heill_. Do it! Say the words!'

'I'll try…' she spread her right hand over the scar. '_Waíse heill!_'

Nothing happened.

Skandar's eyes rolled back into his head, and he began to moan with pain. 'I can't… hurts…'

Senna caught him as he fell backward, frantic now. '_Waíse hae_… _wes_… godsdammit, I don't know the words, Skuld, do something!'

'_You have to concentrate!'_ the silver dragon said. _'I showed you how to do it! Open your mind!'_

She tried, shouting the incantation, but her pronunciation was wrong and panic ran through her system, clouding her mind. 'I can't do it! _Skuld!'_

Slumped over her arm, Skandar suddenly went rigid and began to tremble. Senna tried to hold him still, but then suddenly let go, recoiling from him with a yell.

Skuld lunged forward. _'Senna, what is it?'_

'He's burnin' hot!' Senna exclaimed. 'Skuld, what-?'

Skandar said nothing. His eyes were blank and staring; he looked as if he were unaware of what was going on. He lay on his back for a while as the convulsions became worse, and then he rolled onto his side and began to thrash, crying out as his body warped and stretched. He was transforming.

But this time, both Senna and Skuld knew at once that something was going wrong.

Senna stood up, watching in horror, before she began to back away, revolted and afraid. Skuld stared too, one wing partly covering her rider, unable to move or speak, and both of them watched.

Before, when Skandar had changed, there had been an organic, fluid look to it – it was ugly and frightening, but it looked natural. Now it looked anything but natural. Bones cracked and broke, skin tore and bled; his nose and upper jaw pushed forward into a dragonish snout but his lower jaw remained human, his eyesockets grew but his eyes did not. His cries rent the air – half human screams, half dragonish howls and roars.

Finally, Senna turned away, unable to look any more. Skuld too bowed her head, closing her eyes. But neither of them could close their ears.

The tearings and breakings went on for a long time after Skandar's voice had been silenced, and after a painful eternity they too stop.

When Skuld dared to raise her head again, she saw him lying on the floor, back in the form of the grey dragon. He wasn't moving.

Senna ventured forward to look at him. The transformation was complete – there were no traces of humanity left, and the tears in his skin had closed up, but there was blood on his scales and more had leaked from his nostrils and from between his teeth. She touched him, but he didn't respond, and when she tried to make mental contact she found his mind was a blank void.

'_Is he dead?'_ Skuld asked.

'_I dunno. Unconscious, maybe. How d'yer pick up a dragon's pulse, anyway?'_

Skuld came closer and brought her head down to sniff at him. _'Alive,'_ she said. _'But hurt, badly.'_

Senna sat down beside the grey dragon's limp head. _'Well, we gotta look after him.'_

'_Yes. The son of our King is our master,'_ said Skuld.


	23. The Mad Dragon

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**The Mad Dragon**

Skandar remained unconscious for nearly two days after the horrific transformation back into a dragon. When he did wake up he was weak and confused, but hungrily devoured the food Skuld brought him. He didn't speak, and when Senna tried to make mental contact with him he gave her a blank stare, as if he didn't recognise her or even realise she was trying to speak to him. After that he simply ignored her, and went back to sleep.

The next day he was stronger, albeit still silent, and left the cave in order to go for a short flight over the ruins of Ellesméra before he returned.

Senna, sitting beside the fire, watched him make a clumsy landing just outside the entrance before entering and flopping onto his stomach like a dog, his head resting on his talons.

'How'd it go?' she asked. 'Y'look stronger, sir.'

He watched her as she spoke and then closed his eyes without a word. She had thought he was going to ignore her again, but a while later he suddenly made mental contact. _'Told you I could do it, Eurwen,'_ he mumbled, his mental voice sleepy. _'They said I didn't have magic, but I do, see?'_

Senna started up. _'Skandar? Skandar, can you talk? It's Senna…'_

Skandar didn't reply, and she could tell from the change in his mind that he had fallen asleep. Still, it was a start.

The next day, she and Skuld woke up to find him gone.

'Where'd he go?' said Senna. 'Oh gods, he ain't run off on us, has he?'

'_Keep calm; I'll go scout about for him,'_ said Skuld.

Senna watched her dart out of the cave and fly away. She was gone for some time before she returned, and the moment she reappeared Senna ran to meet her.

'_Did y'find him?'_

Skuld sighed. _'Yeah, he ain't gone. He's down in the forest. Didn't disturb him – looks like he needs time alone t'me.'_

Senna relaxed slightly. _'All right, but we oughta keep an eye on him. Just in case.'_

Skuld flicked her tail. _'Right y'are.'_

They stayed in and around the cave for much of that day, though Skuld checked on their new friend every so often. He showed no sign of returning, and eventually disappeared altogether somewhere among the trees.

Late that evening, he returned – quietly and unobtrusively, walking into the cave with astonishingly little noise for a dragon – and laid the carcass of a wild boar down on the floor. _'For your dinner,'_ he said briefly.

Senna grinned. _'Sir, you're back!'_

Skandar lay down. _'Yes.'_

Skuld came to sniff at his head, and he lifted his snout toward her. _'How are y'feelin'?'_

'_Better.'_ Skandar raised himself a little on his paws. _'Thankyou for looking after me.'_

'It's nothin',' Senna said aloud. 'Less than nothin' – it's our duty. You're the King's son, an' that makes you our master, sir.'

Skandar looked away. _'I'm nobody's master.'_

'Nobody 'cept us, maybe,' said Senna.

'_There'll be others, sure,'_ said Skuld. _'No need t'be modest, sir.'_

Skandar looked at her. _'I don't need followers.'_

'Why?' said Senna. 'Look, sir, I hate t'be too blunt, but Skuld an' I want t'know what's goin' on. How'd you get hurt, sir? Where did y'come from?'

Skandar paused, and then sighed. _'I suppose you've got the right to know… but it'll take a while.'_

'_We're listenin', sir,'_ said Skuld.

The rider and her partner listened closely, while Skandar related his story. He told them briefly about his upbringing in Tara with the dark elves – leaving out the deaths of his parents – and how he had left his home to return to Alagaësia, believing that he had been called there. The meeting with Sif and Saphira, the deaths of Ravana and Nasuada and his own trial and brush with death, Laela's timely intervention, and the subsequent murders of the other riders, culminating in Murtagh's suicide. After that, he related the encounter with the stranger who had stabbed him after effortlessly changing his shape, the escape with Sif and Saphira, and the parting that had followed.

'So where did they go?' Senna asked.

'_Back to Ilirea, I assume. Sif was set on challenging the real murderer and killing him.'_

Skuld rose up. _'An' you let them go alone?'_

'_Why not?'_ Skandar asked sourly. _'They both made it clear that they didn't want my help. I say good luck to them. If they want to get themselves killed, then so be it.'_

Senna looked horrified. 'How could y'do that? For gods' sakes, they needed help – they ain't fought anyone, they dunno what they're doin' – what were you thinkin'?'

Skandar stood up. _'Sif told me to go, so I did,'_ he said. _'And besides, why should I help her? Why should I care about what happens to either of them?'_

'_They helped yer, din't they?'_ said Skuld. _'Sounds t'me like that girl saved yer life.'_

'_After I saved hers,'_ said Skandar. _'We're even now. And besides…'_ he snorted, almost savagely, sending out a little jet of flame. _'My father was right. I should never have come to Alagaësia. The whole thing was nothing but pure stupidity. I almost died trying to help those fools at Ilirea – they nearly killed me, and with no trial or any chance to defend myself… Father was right; riders are judgemental fools. Why should I care that they're all dead? If they'd trusted me, I could have protected them. They made an enemy out of me instead.'_

'_I'm_ a rider,' Senna pointed out.

He dug his talons into the floor. _'That's different. You're not one of them.'_

'Well, you can't leave that girl to die!' said Senna. 'Just because you argued with her – she stood by you when nobody else believed you, didn't she? You owe her. An' either way, she's just a girl. She ain't killed anyone an' she don't deserve t'die.'

'_It's too late for that,'_ said Skandar. _'Even if I cared.'_

'_I don't understand why she helped at all, though,'_ Skuld interrupted. _'Why'd she do so much t'help yer in the first place?'_

Skandar growled. _'She thinks she's in love with me; she told me so.'_

'_An' d'you love her back?'_ Skuld asked quietly.

'_No.'_

'But y've still got t'do somethin',' said Senna, after a brief silence. 'Even if y'don't like her, she still don't deserve t'die.'

'_No,'_ Skandar said again. _'There's nothing I can do, understand? Even if she isn't dead already, there's nothing I could do against that… thing. He has magic; I don't. I never have.'_

'What d'you mean?' said Senna. 'No m-,' she rubbed her head. 'Yer father's magical powers were legend. They said he could-,'

'_I am not my father,' _Skandar said sharply. _'All I inherited from him was…'_ he broke off abruptly. _'I can't cast spells. And anyway, I'm too weak, and…'_

'_What are yer gonna do, then?'_ said Skuld.

'_I'm going home,'_ said Skandar. _'Back to Tara. It's the only place I can go now.'_

Silence followed.

'What, so that's it?' Senna said abruptly. 'That's what yer gonna do? Run off like a coward?'

Skandar stood up. _'I CAN'T DO ANYTHING!' _he roared. _'Understand? I can't and I won't. I'm…'_ he slumped suddenly. _'I need to go back to Hen Addef.'_

'_Why?'_ said Skuld.

'_Because I…'_ his tail flicked listlessly. _'I've made a mistake. It's gone wrong.'_

'_What's_ gone wrong?' said Senna.

'_I shouldn't have tried to change back so soon; I wasn't strong enough for it. The wound hadn't healed properly.'_ He raised his head. _'I'm stuck,'_ he said simply.

'What d'you mean, stuck?' said Senna.

'_I can't change any more,'_ said Skandar. _'I've tried. I've been trying all day. I can't make myself human again. The power… it just isn't there any more. I'm trapped in this form. Maybe forever. That's why I have to go back to Hen Addef, understand? The dark elves can help me, their magic… I have to try.'_

Senna groaned. 'Oh gods…'

'_Are yer sure?'_ said Skuld. _'I mean… ain't… can Senna an' me help, maybe?'_

'_You can't,'_ said Skandar. _'Even if Senna had been trained in magic, she wouldn't have the power for it. This kind of spell takes the energies of many wizards working together.'_ He moved away, toward the entrance, where he curled up. _'I'm leaving tomorrow,'_ he said briefly. _'Thankyou for your help. If you want to come to Tara with me, you can. I can give you time to decide; I have one last thing to do before I leave.'_

'_What?' _said Skuld.

He glanced at her. _'Laela. I have to find her and take her with me; I'm not leaving her here to suffer on her own. The dark elves can take care of her.'_

Senna looked troubled. 'I still don't understand,' she said. 'Why would Laela be here without Galbatorix? Why'd she leave him? Where is he, anyway?'

'_My father is at peace,'_ Skandar intoned. But deep down, as he tried to make himself sleep, he knew it was a lie.

Skandar left the cave at dawn, while Senna and Skuld were still asleep. He left a brief message scratched into the floor: _will come back here with Laela. Don't go to Ilirea. I order you._

Once that was done, he glanced at the two sleeping females before he turned away and clumsily took to the sky.

His wings ached, though not as badly as his chest. He felt weak, painfully weak, but there was no doubt in his mind. All he wanted now was to find Laela and go home. King Orgetorix would be unhappy to see him again, but if he apologised and swore to be obedient to him in the future then maybe he would be forgiven. And perhaps Eurwen would be there, waiting for him.

Even if he never did change back into a human, he could live there in dragon form, in the mountains… somewhere nobody would find him. There were no dragons in Tara. He would be lonely, but safe. And perhaps Eurwen would come to visit him…

Skandar's resolve hardened, and he flew on, out of Du Weldenvarden and away South-West, toward the mountains of the Spine. Laela had to be there, somewhere.

The journey took him longer than he had expected, partly because he had to avoid flying over inhabited areas during the day, but also because of his own weakness, which improved a little day by day, though not by much. What he actually needed was at least a week of rest and good food, and once or twice he was tempted to find a place where he could have just that, but he restrained himself. He couldn't afford to stay in one place for too long. The murderer could be after him too, and he was in no condition for a fight.

Finally, after four solid days on the wing, he reached the edge of the mountains and struck out into them.

It didn't take him long to encounter a wild dragon – a big green-scaled male who rose up out of a valley, roaring a challenge. Skandar flew low, landing on an exposed plateaux, where he stood as still as he could and bowed his head in a sign of submission.

The other dragon hovered over him, talons threateningly lowered. _'Leave my territory or fight!'_

Skandar sent back a feeling of peacefulness and respect. _'I am not here to challenge you, green-scales. I acknowledge your lordship over this ground, and will do your bidding until I leave.'_

Those were the traditional dragonish words of placation, and the green dragon relaxed somewhat. _'Why have you come into my land, grey-scales?'_

'_Only to seek your help, Lord,'_ said Skandar. _'I seek another dragon. She is white-scaled with silver wings and eyes. Larger than yourself, but weak and thin.'_

The other dragon considered for a while. _'I have not seen this dragon,'_ he said eventually. _'But a sick dragon would be near to the coast, where the hunting is poor. No other dragon would want such a territory.'_

Skandar dipped his head. _'Thankyou for your help, my Lord. May I know your name?'_

'_I am Navaras,'_ said the green-scaled dragon. _'Now go, stranger.'_

'_I shall.'_ Skandar flew on, through Navaras' territory and out the other side, heading for the coast.

He encountered several more wild dragons along the way, but none of them were any help – many refused to speak with him at all and settled for driving him away from their territories instead. He collected several painful talon-cuts on his back and flanks and nearly ended up in an outright fight with one particularly aggressive female before he finally reached the coast.

Fortunately the dragons there were more tractable – most of them were weaklings or youngsters, and keen to appease him. Still, none of them could help.

Days passed, as he worked his way down the coast, and still there was no word. Until, at last, just as he had begun to lose all hope, a scrawny brown dragon he questioned said: _'Do you mean the mad dragon?'_

'_What?'_ said Skandar. _'What mad dragon?'_

'_There is a dragon not far from here who looks like that,'_ the brown dragon said. _'White, female, silver-winged. Dragons here call her the mad dragon.'_

'_Do you know her name?'_ said Skandar.

'_No, but I can tell you where to find her.'_

'_Tell me.'_

The brown dragon showed him a mental image – a map of the coast, shown as if he were flying above it. Landmarks loomed out at him, until the image rounded a corner and showed him a cave in the cliff-face overlooking the sea. Sure enough, there was a white dragon sitting hunched in the entrance, and, as she looked up, he recognised her face.

'_That's her!'_ he said, unable to stop himself.

'_I do not know what you would want her for,'_ the brown dragon muttered. _'But you will find her there.'_

Skandar straightened up. _'Thankyou.'_

He flew away from the brown dragon without another word, and set off along the coast, following the mental map as fast as he could, his heart thudding. When he was partway there, he was confronted by another dragon – a red male.

Skandar stopped reluctantly to confront him, and after a brief standoff the red dragon backed down. _'What do you want of me?' _

'_Nothing,'_ said Skandar. _'I'm only passing through. I'm looking for a white female dragon. The one they call "the mad dragon". Do you know her?'_

The red dragon started. _'Yes, of course. I mated with her.'_

Skandar stared at him. _'What? You-,' _anger rose in his chest. _'Did she want you to? Did you force her?'_

'_No; she approached me.'_

Skandar gave a mental thrust, ruthlessly searching through the red dragon's mind for any traces of deceit, but as far as he could see he was telling the truth. _'What was her name? Did she tell you?'_

The red dragon flicked his tail. _'Yes. Her name is Laela.'_

Skandar eyed him. The red dragon was thin and long-legged – he looked as if he hadn't eaten properly even once in his entire life. The idea of Laela voluntarily mating with him was disturbing. _'Where is she now?'_

'_Not far from here,'_ said the red dragon. _'She chose a place to lay her eggs – a cave a few dozen wingbeats along the coast.'_

Eggs! Skandar spread his wings. _'Thankyou.'_

He flew on, oblivious to his own exhaustion, his mind racing alongside his heart. Laela, choosing a mate. Laela, with a clutch of eggs. The whole idea felt ridiculous – impossible.

He kept going, noting the landmarks and outright ignoring the next dragon to challenge him. Finally, he reached the peninsula that marked the edge of Laela's territory, and flew over it and into the little bay where there was, indeed, a cave dug into the cliff face.

There didn't seem to be anyone around. Skandar flew toward the cave, not thinking to sent out a call, and alighted at its lip.

He poked his head inside, sniffing at the air. Almost as soon as he had breathed in, the scent filled his nostrils. A scent he knew. Mingled with dung and the sickly odour of illness, but familiar all the same, and as his eyes adjusted he could see the big white shape hunched at the back of the cave. Laela!

Skandar stepped forward, reaching out with his mind. _'Laela!'_

A second later she came awake, lurching toward him, her mouth open wide to roar. _'GO! MY LAND! GO!'_ her mental voice was loud and panicky. _'GO!'_

Skandar backed away. _'Laela!'_ he called again. _'Please, calm down! I'm not-,'_

She rushed forward with a sudden burst of speed, and before he could blink she had lashed out at him, teeth bared, aiming straight for his throat. Skandar dodged the attack, instinctively hitting out with his talons and catching her across the snout. She tottered sideways, making a wheezing noise, and thudded against the wall.

Horror-struck, Skandar came toward her, intending to try and help her, but she only whined and scurried away to the back of the cave, where she curled up against the wall.

Skandar came closer. _'Laela. Please. It's all right…'_

She only stared at him, wide-eyed, her talons curled inward on the cave floor. _'Go,'_ she said, her mental voice a frightened whisper. _'Go, please. Don't hurt them. I need them…'_

Skandar backed off a little. _'Laela? What are you talking about?'_

Laela pushed herself even further back against the wall, her forepaws scrabbling at something, making a scooping motion, as if to drag something after her. _'Please. I need them. Don't hurt them. Let me take them and go. Please.'_

Skandar realised he was distressing her, and moved further back, simultaneously reaching further into her mind with his own, trying to reassure her. Her own mind was a maze of fear and bewilderment, mingled with… Skandar cringed. _'No,'_ he said, involuntarily, trying to deny it.

Laela's mind was… not right. He could taste the wrongness everywhere he looked. There was something… some sense, some feeling of something there that shouldn't be… almost a feeling of _clamouring_, or crowding – too many thoughts, too many feelings, all in the one mind.

All of a sudden, Laela stilled. _'You,' _she said. _'You… I know you…'_

'_Yes!'_ said Skandar. _'Laela, yes – you know me! I've been looking for you for so long – please, just talk to me.'_

She came closer, stretching her snout out toward him, and he could feel her growing calmness, mixed with a sense of joy. _'Yes,'_ she said softly. _'Yes! I know you… I know… but I thought…'_

'_It's me,' _Skandar told her. _'I'm alive. I came to find you, Laela. I want to help you.'_

She closed her eyes and made a faint humming sound in her throat. _'Yes. It's you. I know it's you. Your mind… I know your mind. So well. You came back, didn't you? Yes. Yes, my own, my wonderful, my friend.'_

'_Laela?'_ said Skandar. _'Are you all right?'_

She looked up at him. _'Yes,'_ she said beatifically. _'Yes, I am. I am now, Galbatorix.'_

Cold despair bit into Skandar's chest. _'Laela, no,'_ he said. _'I'm not Galbatorix. Please, listen, it's-,'_

'_Look!'_ Laela said, as if she hadn't heard him. _'Galbatorix, look! Look at this! See what your Laela has done? Look!'_

Skandar followed her, toward the back of the cave, and she beckoned him after her, showing him the heap of broken wood where four eggs nestled.

Skandar nosed at them. _'Laela…'_

'_I wanted them, Galbatorix,'_ she said. _'Please… I thought you were dead. And Skandar… he betrayed us, Galbatorix. I'm so sorry. He murdered one of the riders, he murdered Ravana. I tried so hard to save him. I couldn't. I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do. I was too late. I didn't know what to do. I came here. I thought if there was nothing left for me to do, then I should just try and be a dragon… if I had no partner any more, then I should live like a wild dragon. I found a mate, Galbatorix. And now, see? I've got eggs of my own, I have, Galbatorix, oh yes… aren't they beautiful?'_

Skandar sniffed at the eggs. He had seen a dragon egg once before. These, though, didn't look like it. Their shells were dull – lustreless, their colours faded. But more than that, they had a smell about them… an empty, lifeless smell. He probed at them with his mind, but found nothing. _'Laela, these eggs are dead,'_ he said. _'They're not going to hatch.'_

Laela ignored him. She curled up, circling the eggs with her body, and looked up peacefully at him. _'It doesn't matter now,'_ she said. _'Now you're back, everything's all right again. We can live together as we were meant to, and you can help me raise my young. We'll be so happy. Together again, Galbatorix…'_

Skandar closed his eyes, but he couldn't stop the tears from running down his snout. They were bitter tears – painful ones. Tears he hadn't shed in a long time. Too long.

He stood hunched in the middle of the cave, saying nothing but crying in silence – dragonish tears that steamed when they hit the floor.

But the sight of them seemed to get through to Laela. She stood up and came toward him, her mind sending him feelings of concern. _'Galbatorix? Why are you crying?'_

Skandar couldn't look at her. _'Laela, I'm not Galbatorix. He's dead.'_

Laela stopped dead, staring at him. _'I don't understand. Dead…? How can you be dead?' _And then, without any warning, she was shouting. _'You can't die! You told me so! You can never die! No-one can kill the Shadow That Walks! Poison, swords, hanging, starvation, magic… nothing could kill you! You always came back! You came back for Skade, you came back for the Empire – why couldn't you come back for me?'_

Skandar started up. _'My father is dead because I killed him, understand?'_ he shouted back, and in that instant he felt something break inside him and everything came forth, all at once, every word, full of anger and pain and helplessness and despair. _'I killed him!'_ he roared. _'That's why they thought I killed Nasuada! I couldn't say I wasn't a murderer, because I am! I stabbed my own father through the heart! I did it! Understand? I lived with that my whole life, knowing what I did. Knowing I killed him, I betrayed him. It was my fault! If I hadn't been born, he never would have left here at all, he never would have done what he did – he was trying to protect me, and I killed him! That's what happened, Laela. I killed the Shadow That Walks. I killed my father.'_

Laela faltered, backing away before his screaming voice. _'Please, stop, please…'_

'_I did it,'_ Skandar repeated, his mental voice suddenly weak. _'I killed my father. Murderer, liar, thief, traitor… you shouldn't have saved me.'_ He slumped, exhausted.

Laela came toward him, reaching out. _'Skandar,'_ she said softly. _'Skandar, is that you? Are you Skandar?'_

Skandar looked up at her. _'Yes, Laela. It's me in here.'_

'_I thought you were dead,'_ she said.

'_No. I survived. I've always been a survivor. Just like my father.'_

Laela sat down on her haunches. _'I thought… I thought you were Galbatorix.'_

'_It's all right, Laela,'_ Skandar said bitterly. _'I'm like him. Always have been.'_

The white dragon shuddered. _'Gods,'_ she said. _'Skandar. I'm so sorry. I'm so confused. I can't think straight any more, everything's all mixed up in my head. So much in there, I can't understand it all…'_

'_It's all right,' _said Skandar. _'And I'm sorry.'_ He rubbed his head under her chin. _'Laela. Please, listen. I didn't kill Nasuada. I didn't kill Silarae. I didn't kill Ravana. I didn't kill any of them. The only person I ever killed was… was my father.'_

Laela gave a dragonish whimper. _'Skandar… please… don't say that.'_

'_I have to,'_ said Skandar. _'It's the truth.'_

'_No. Skandar, you didn't kill your father.'_ She shuddered again. _'Your father… killed himself. You were there. He threw himself into a ravine. I felt him die.'_

'_You don't understand!' _said Skandar. _'Laela, he came back! He came back… later, after you left. Mother and I walked out of the mountains, and he came to find us. It was him. He was alive.'_

'_Alive?'_ said Laela. _'How?'_

'_I don't know.'_ said Skandar. _'He was different. His eyes… they were red. He talked differently. It was like he was someone else. Laela he… he killed Mother. He strangled her. And then he tried to kill me. He had me by the neck, he was killing me… I took his dagger out of his belt and killed him with it. I had to do it.'_

Laela groaned. _'Oh, Skandar. Skandar. Poor Skandar. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left you. I should have let you tell me the truth. Poor, sweet Skandar. You're so much like your father. Always blaming yourself, always thinking you've done something terrible.'_

'_But I did do something terrible,'_ said Skandar.

'_No. What you did was self-defence, and what you killed… wasn't Galbatorix.'_

'_It was!' _said Skandar. _'I remember everything, I…'_

'_What you killed was Durza,'_ said Laela. _'Listen. You know your father had… he wasn't well. Durza had infested his mind, making him sick, taking his memories. He killed himself to stop Durza from taking control of his body. It failed. Durza took control and came after you. He killed Skade. But you killed him. You killed a Shade. That was all you did, Skandar.'_

'_But there had to be a way to save him!'_ said Skandar. _'There had to be a way to pull Durza out of him… set him free…'_

'_Galbatorix was already dead when Durza took over,' _said Laela. _'Skandar, there was nothing you could have done.'_

Skandar was silent for a long time. _'We have to get out of here,'_ he said at last. _'Laela, I… I don't know what to do.'_

Laela said nothing. When Skandar looked up, he saw her hunched on the spot, her muscles bunched and quivering, neck arched. There were tears on her face.

He reached out to her. _'Laela?'_

She shuddered violently when he touched her, and this time she did not stop. Skandar, forgetting that he was a dragon and so was she, moved forward, wrapping his wings and forelegs around her and trying his best to hold her. She recoiled for a moment but then pressed herself against him, and he could feel her trembling.

'_Laela…'_

'_I can't,'_ she moaned suddenly. _'I can't stand it. Skandar, I can't. It's driving me mad.'_

'_What? Laela, please, just stay still, try and calm down. You're all right, you're safe. I've got you.'_

'_I can't,'_ Laela sobbed. _'He's dead but he won't leave me. I can still hear his voice… he won't go, he won' t leave me alone. He's still inside me.'_

Skandar thought briefly of the strange clamouring he had felt inside her head. _'It's all right,'_ he told her. _'You'll be all right. I can look after you.'_

He continued to hold onto her, and she eventually calmed down. _'Why did you come here, Skandar?'_ she asked. _'Your father made you promise never to leave Tara. Why did you break your promise?'_

'_Because…'_ Skandar paused. _'I saw… I believed that was what he wanted me to do.'_

'_Why?'_

'_Something happened,'_ said Skandar. _'I found Hen Addef, after… what happened. The dark elves raised me. I didn't fit in. I couldn't use magic, I looked strange… the other children made fun of me. When we were old enough, the dark elves held the adulthood ceremony for us. We were thrown into a freezing lake, one by one. To be cleansed. When they threw me in… I tried to swim, I panicked… I sank. I nearly drowned. I started to black out, and I saw something. I had a vision. I saw my father, telling me… he kept saying "go home, go home, they need you". And after that… I changed into a dragon. It was the first time it had happened since I was a boy. I climbed out of the lake, everyone saw me… and after that I knew I had to leave. I stole the crown out of the treasury and ran away, back to Alagaësia. I thought I'd been visited… I thought Father wanted me to become King and look after the Empire for him. That's why I came back.'_

'_But you failed,'_ said Laela.

'_Yes.'_

'_Why?'_

Skandar told her – giving her the details of Ravana's death, and Nasuada's, and everything that had happened afterward. She listened, and he could sense her horror mounting with every word.

Finally, he told her about the fight at Ilirea with the stranger who had taken on Galbatorix's shape.

'_No!'_ Laela exclaimed. _'Skandar, who was it? Who could do something like that?'_

'_I don't know. He changed his shape far more quickly than I could. Laela, I – I'm trapped in this shape. He stabbed me… Sif healed me, but something went wrong. I can't change back. Sif's gone back, to try and fight him. I offered to help, but she refused. That was weeks ago.'_

'_What are you going to do?'_ said Laela.

'_Do?'_ said Skandar. _'Laela, I shouldn't have come here. That much is obvious. I'm going to do what Father wanted me to do – go back to Tara and stay there. I came looking for you so I could take you with me. You don't deserve to stay here. If you come to Hen Addef, I'm sure we can look after you…_'

'_But we have to do something!'_ said Laela. _'If the real murderer is still alive, then we have to find him, and stop him before he does any more damage. And if Sif is alive, then we have to protect her.'_

'_Why?'_ said Skandar.

'_She's the last rider,'_ said Laela.

'_Her father betrayed mine,'_ said Skandar. _'He killed Shruikan, and he had Father tortured… he nearly killed him.'_

'_But Sif is not her father,'_ said Laela. _'Any more than you are yours. You have to help her.'_

Skandar said nothing.

'_Your father would have,'_ Laela added quietly.


	24. In Her Father's Name

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

**In Her Father's Name**

Sif and Saphira had not lingered for long after Skandar left them. But the storm stopped Saphira from flying far, and she soon took shelter in a small copse.

Sif reluctantly got off her back, and took shelter beneath her partner's wing.

'_How long do we have to stay here?'_

'_Until the storm clears,'_ Saphira said tersely. _'I cannot fly in this, and we must think.'_

Sif sighed and lit a small fire with magic – one that needed no fuel and gave off no smoke. Once it was large enough to satisfy her, she sat down next to it and warmed herself. Saphira was right, of course – she couldn't go after the murderer without some kind of plan. But what?

She did her best to think – trying with all her might to force her thoughts into some kind of clarity – but she couldn't. She was exhausted, still weakened by the magic she had used on Skandar, and by the sheer terror she had felt before then. And even before the attack she hadn't been strong – drained by days of insufficient food and not enough sleep. Skandar's parting words still burnt inside her. Bitter, harsh words. _I never felt anything for you. Not at Gil'ead, not in the King's Wood. I was never going to make you my Queen. _

She covered her face with her hands, fighting back tears, but the struggle was worse than hopeless, and a moment later she started to sob. Once upon a time she had believed that tears were romantic things – shed by beautiful maidens grieving for lost beloveds, or by mothers mourning the loss of noble sons killed in valiant combat.

There were nothing romantic about these tears, nothing at all. The sobs were harsh, painful things that made her back jerk and sent pain through her ribcage. Her eyes burnt and her nose ran – she felt stupid and humiliated, and _weak._ It made her angry, but it was a sick kind of anger, twisting in her stomach, and she sobbed even harder, hating the tears and hating Skandar for inflicting them on her, but most of all hating herself.

Saphira didn't try and say anything. The blue dragon stayed by her rider's side, comforting her with her presence, waiting for her to calm down. Some things were not meant to be interfered with. People were born alone, they died alone, and they cried alone.

Eventually Sif broke the silence, her mental voice weak. _'He doesn't love me, Saphira. He hates me. He always hated me.'_

'_He didn't say that, Sif,'_ Saphira said gently.

'_Well he's right!'_ Sif exclaimed. _'He's right to hate me. Everyone who hates me is right. I should have died, not Murtagh, or Mother, or anyone else. Why am I the last rider? I'm useless!'_

'_No.'_ Saphira did not put any emphasis on the word. _'No. You are not useless, Sif.'_

Sif ignored her. _'And now he's gone again. And… I'm glad. I want him gone. I wish he would die.'_

'_He said many cruel things,'_ said Saphira. _'But so did you.'_

'_I don't care what I said. I don't care…'_ Sif's sobs broke out again.

This time, Saphira did interfere. _'Sif. Sif, listen…'_

Sif quieted. _'What are we going to do? Saphira, I don't know what to do. I just don't know.'_

'_He did say one thing that was true, you know,'_ Saphira said quietly.

'_What?'_ Sif snapped.

'_He said "you are your father's daughter",'_ said Saphira. _'"Every inch of you".'_

'_Because my father was a fool,'_ Sif snarled. _'Everyone says so. Even Murtagh said so. Eragon the Brat. Eragon the Bloodthirsty, Eragon the Brainless.'_

'_I see more than that, Sif,'_ said Saphira. _'I see much more.'_

Sif said nothing.

'_Skandar was more right than he knew,'_ said Saphira. _'You are your father's daughter, and he is his own father's son, every inch of him. He did as his father would do and has done ever since we met him. He has lied, manipulated, cheated and betrayed. Now he has slunk away alone rather than fight, as his father would have. But you have done as your own father would have. Told the truth, opened your heart, stood up for what was right. You have made mistakes, but all of us do that. And while Skandar fled, you returned. Because you are brave. Like your father.'_

The dragon spoke quietly, but with gentle conviction, and as Sif listened she felt a few traces of warmth creep back into her heart.

'_But my father failed,'_ she said at last. _'He lost. Galbatorix betrayed and murdered him.'_

'_Galbatorix is not here now,'_ said Saphira. _'And neither is Skandar. Your father was alone when he died. You have me, Sif.'_

'_But how are we going to do it, Saphira? How can we fight?'_

'_We'll find a way,'_ said Saphira. _'Rest now. Then we can make plans.'_

The two of them waited together while the storm raged on. It didn't ease off until shortly before dawn, but by then rider and dragon had rested and talked. Both of them agreed that while the murderer was powerful, he was unlikely to attack while other people were there – he had operated by stealth before, so why would he stop now? Saphira's suggestion was that they go directly to the King's Wood and contact Skirnir. With the help of the silver dragon and his clan, they would have a much better chance of finding and defeating the killer. And no doubt Skirnir would also want to know the truth about his brother's innocence.

'_We can fight this thing,'_ the blue dragon reassured her partner. _'I know we can. Now we have a better idea of what we're fighting. And perhaps Skirnir will know more.'_

Sif gave a mental nod. _'Yes, you're right. We shouldn't fight alone.'_

The wind died down as dawn's first light began to glow over the landscape, and Sif climbed back onto Saphira's back before the dragon took off – flying up and out of the copse and away, back toward Ilirea with slow, steady wingbeats.

The journey did not take as long as Sif had expected. They had only been in the air for an hour or so when the city came in sight, and a favourable updraught carried them easily toward it. Sif was relieved to see Ilirea – somehow, she had imagined that it would have been destroyed or set on fire by the murderer – but there it was, rearing into the sky, its ancient stones just the way she remembered.

Almost. She saw the damage done to the dragon roost almost instantly – the big chunk of stone torn out of the structure by Saphira's claws looked even larger and more jagged than she had expected it to. But there were already workmen up there, fixing it, and her feeling of relief increased when she saw them. Everything was all right.

But her sense of relief only lasted a short time. As Saphira flew over the city and the castle, both of them heard something that chilled their blood – a deep, shattering _roar_, rising up from out of the King's Wood, so loud it seemed to shake the sky itself.

Saphira bucked in the air. _'What-?'_

A horrible cold, sick feeling grabbed hold of Sif's stomach. _'No!'_ she exclaimed. _'NO! That's not… Saphira… that can't have…'_

But moments later the roar came again, and Sif and Saphira shared a feeling of terror and disbelief.

'_Saphira, that can't be him,'_ said Sif. _'It can't…'_

'_I know that roar,'_ Saphira said grimly. _'We both do.'_

'_But that can't be the King,'_ said Sif. _'He's dead.'_

'_And so is Galbatorix,'_ said Saphira.

Sif had already guessed the truth. _'It's him. The murderer. It has to be. He can change his shape…'_

As the second roar died away, they heard another voice – loud and deep; strong for a dragon's roar, but nowhere near as powerful as the first.

'_Skirnir,'_ Saphira muttered. _'They're in trouble. We must go to them.'_

Sif nodded and lay flat against the dragon's neck, bracing herself. An instant later Saphira folded her wings and dropped out of the sky – flying straight downward, toward the bellying greenness of the wood where the Night Dragon had once reigned supreme. When she was mere inches above the treetops she opened her wings and levelled out, flying so low her talons clipped the foliage, heading straight for the mountain.

Sif had already seen what awaited them, and her heart quailed at the sight.

The monstrous black dragon crouched on top of the mountain, his horns spiking into the sky, mouth open to show his fangs. Arrayed in front of him were Skirnir and his clan – perched lower on the mountain, but she could see most of them backing away.

Only Skirnir held his ground, snarling and defiant. Sif could only imagine what he might be saying, in the privacy of their minds. But as Saphira rushed toward them she saw Ravana advanced on the silver dragon, roaring, but Skirnir didn't back away. He held his ground, spreading his wings to make himself look bigger. Neither of them had noticed Sif and Saphira yet.

The blue dragon sped up, beating her wings frantically. _'Back away, you fool!'_ she rasped internally. _'Get away!'_

But Skirnir could not hear her, and would not have listened even if he had. He made a sudden movement toward the giant dragon, roaring, flames licking between his teeth.

Ravana lashed out, fast and brutal. His massive paw struck Skirnir in the throat, just below his jaw. Sif saw his talons cut through the silver dragon's scales as if they were made of paper, straight through the flesh beneath, and the bone, and a second later Skirnir's body was falling backward, down the mountain side. His head, completely severed from his neck, thudded onto the stone by Ravana's paws, and blood soaked into earth and stone.

Sif screamed, out loud, and in an instant Ravana looked up and saw her, his golden eyes huge and burning. Saphira saw him start to rise, growling, his wings opening. She folded her own left wing and executed a perfect barrel roll, away from the mountain, and as Ravana's own wings began to beat at the air she banked straight upward, turned and began to fly away as fast as she could go.

The violent motion nearly wrenched Sif's arms out of their sockets, but the leg-straps held and she clung to her partner's back, her heart racing. She risked a glance back, and her stomach leapt into her mouth. Ravana was there, behind them, his huge wings pounding at the air. And he was gaining on them.

Sif screamed. _'SAPHIRA!'_

'_Hold on,'_ Saphira snapped back, and a split second later she angled her wings and flew upwards at a sharp angle. Ravana snarled and made a grab for her, but his jaws snapped shut a fraction from the end of her tail as she reached the summit of her arc and shot backward, upside-down, straight over the ravening monster.

Sif's hands instantly lost their grip, and she hung upside-down, by the legs, screaming in terror. Saphira could not afford to worry about her partner's wellbeing; she made another barrel roll, righting herself, and flew back toward the mountain and its occupants. The motion threw Sif backward, hard, and pain spiked through her spine before she fell forward, onto Saphira's neck. Saphira, feeling her pain, bellowed. But her anguish was for more than that. She flew as hard as she could, pushing her wings to their limit, but as the trees passed below her she saw them darken as a massive shadow blotted out the sun.

There was no point in trying to twist out from under him – he was faster than her, if not as agile. But she tried anyway, tried until her wings ached and tears of panic were streaming from her eyes.

Finally, though, as she began to weaken, Ravana calmly took command. He bore down on her, forcing her toward the ground, his talons blocking her escape. Lower and lower, toward the treetops and the pitiless ground below them. Saphira closed her eyes, sharing her rider's utter terror and despair.

'_Why?' _Sif's mental voice said, almost plaintively. _'Why hasn't he struck? Why hasn't he used his fire?'_

'_He wants us alive,'_ Saphira replied.

And then they landed. Saphira ploughed through the upper branches of a stand of oak trees, wood snapping and breaking as her talons struck them before she fell, the ground rushing up to meet her, wings flailing. She managed to lift herself slightly before they hit the ground, meeting it with her chest and talons rather than her head, but her momentum carried her forward and into a birch thicket, where she finally slid to a halt.

The landing nearly knocked Sif unconscious. Hanging limp in the saddle, she dimly heard the thud behind her that was Ravana's paws hitting the ground. Fear brought back some of her senses, and she fumbled with the straps holding her legs in place. They came free and she slid unstoppably down Saphira's flank and hit the ground, hard.

She managed to turn onto her back and looked up into the black dragon's massive, scarred face.

'_Saphira…'_

The blue dragon stirred. _'Sif… Sif, are you all right?'_

Sif couldn't answer. She dragged herself backward, away from Ravana, her back screaming all the while.

But the death-blow she had been expecting did not come. Ravana stepped forward and lifted one forepaw, placing it on Saphira's back and pinning her down.

'_Do not move,'_ his voice rumbled in both their heads. _'All I must do is push, and your ribs will shatter.'_

Saphira groaned. _'Sif. Sif, get away. Run…'_

But Sif couldn't, even if she had wanted to. She huddled against her partner's foreleg, staring up at Ravana in mute terror.

'_So,'_ he said, still addressing both of them. _'The valiant rider returns to save her Empire. Truly, you are as bold and stupid as your father. And you, Saphira… meekly helping your human just as your namesake would have. I see now why fate chose you to be the last of your kind.'_

Saphira managed to lift her head. _'Murderer.'_

He laughed; a horrible snorting, rasping sound. _'Call it murder if you will, but I call it justice. No authority could ever convict your kind for what they have done, but it is my blood right to avenge the dead and ensure that you can do no more harm.'_

'_We haven't done anything!'_ said Sif. _'You're insane!'_

He snarled at that – a loud, savage snarl that threatened to become a roar. _'Be silent, usurper. I have better things to do than to hear your accusations. You have knowledge I need… I suggest you do not waste your energies by trying to struggle.'_

And then… and then…

What followed was unlike anything Sif had ever experienced in her life, and yet there was something familiar about it as well. The harsh, uncaring force that was the murderer's presence in her mind suddenly enlarged and strengthened – filling every inch of her own like a gush of hot metal. There was no resisting this, no blocking it – it happened so quickly she didn't even have the chance to summon her mental defences. And still it surged on, unstoppable, overwhelmingly powerful, until she lost all sense of herself, and all sense of Saphira's mind linked to hers.

In a way, it was just the same as those times when she and Saphira widened their mental link, to share their thoughts and feelings more completely. But this was ugly and violent, done without consent, and without the perfect grace and harmony she had experienced with Saphira. This was rape of the mind, and it went on, unmercifully. Now she could feel it rifling through her memories, pulling out sounds and images, and thoughts – plundering everything she knew as if her mind were a box of treasure. She felt the presence of the murderer examine it all – seeing her escape with Skandar, and her healing of him, followed by their parting. And other things as well – earlier things, deeper things. Everything she had heard and seen at Ilirea. Her first meeting with Skandar. The deaths of Murtagh and her mother. And the plans she had made with Saphira – all she had intended to do after returning to Ilirea.

When it was done, the other mind abruptly withdrew – leaving Sif drained, trembling, a sick pain in her head.

'_So,'_ the murderer's voice said. _'The filthy two-shape survived. A pity, but there is no need to pursue him. Sooner or later, after all, he will come to me. When he knows that I have you, he will come haring back to save you. He is every bit the reckless fool his father was.'_

'_He won't come back,'_ Sif whispered.

'_Oh, he will,'_ said the murderer. _'The Taranisäiis are treacherous by their very nature, but their honour always betrays them. He will come to me soon, and then he will die… slowly. There is no escape for him. But for you there is a chance.'_

'_Kill us,'_ Saphira rasped. _'Kill us and be done with it.'_

The great black dragon sighed and lifted himself a little, rolling his gigantic shoulders to stretch them. _'I like this shape,'_ he said. _'I believe I shall wear it much longer than the last. After all… with the choice between wearing the form of a wanted murderer or the face of a King… it is easy to decide. Today, my reign begins and that of Ravana the Night Dragon continues. And you, my little friends… what am I to do with you?'_

'_Please, let us go,'_ said Sif. _'We want to go. We can't fight you…'_

'_Correct,'_ said the murderer. _'However… Ravana did not rule unassisted. To continue his reign, I will need ambassadors… generals, perhaps. Therefore, I give you a choice. Swear yourselves to me and continue your old lives under my command, or die.'_

Sif shuddered. _'We can't… I won't…'_

The murderer leaned closer, towering over her and Saphira, his hot breath ruffling Sif's hair. _'Choose,'_ he said softly.


	25. Shapeshifter

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**Shapeshifter**

_Come… come to me… come…_

Sif groaned in her sleep and rolled over. Though her body was sprawled untidily over her bed – she had fallen asleep before she could get under the covers – her mind was elsewhere; buried in a thick fog of exhaustion and half-forgotten dreams.

_Sif._

The voice continued to whisper, in her mind, needling itself through the shades of sleep.

_Sif. SIF!_

The voice began to rouse her; half-conscious, she rolled over again and tried to go back to sleep. But it continued to call, louder and more insistent, refusing to let her go.

'_Sif. Wake up. You must come.'_

Sif dragged herself up onto her pillows, propping herself against the wall. _'What…? Saphira?'_

'_Come,'_ the voice said yet again. _'You must come now. Your master commands it.'_

Sif felt a deep shudder go through her body. _'Yes… yes, Master. I'm coming.'_

She got out of bed, muttering a word to create light around her. Still half-asleep, she reached for her clothes, only to find that they weren't there. She hadn't undressed before she went to bed. She hadn't even taken her shoes off. At least that would save time – her master sounded particularly impatient tonight.

She reached out with her mind. _'Saphira?'_

The blue dragon's own mind radiated tired despair. _'Again?'_

'_Yes. I'm coming up now.'_

'_I will be ready for you.'_

As Sif left the room, she glanced briefly at the mirror and caught a glimpse of her own face. She looked tired and worn, and pale. Her hair was unkempt – she hadn't combed it since… she couldn't remember when she had last combed it. _I look old,_ she thought.

Saphira was waiting for her, up on the roost which had now been repaired. Sif climbed onto her back without stopping to put the saddle on, and the blue dragon took off.

'_Will he come?'_ Sif asked. _'Will he come, Saphira?'_

When Saphira did not reply, Sif didn't try and make her do so, and that was all either of them said during the flight toward the King's Wood.

Saphira landed a short distance away from the mountain – their master did not like them to approach it from the air – and the two of them walked the rest of the way.

'_Do you think we'll have to stay long this time?'_ Sif asked.

'_I hope not.'_

Sif shuddered when they entered the clearing around the mountain. She hated it here. It was just another of the long list of horrors she had seen during the month or so since she and Saphira had taken their oaths of allegiance and their new master had taken Ravana's name and power.

If Saphira felt her partner's horror, she didn't show it. She walked on, toward the mountain, silently picking her way through the bones that littered the ground. Sif, keeping close beside her, saw the moonlight shine through the eyesockets of Lifrasir's skull. Even though the scales had gone along with the flesh, she still recognised it – she had seen where the bodies of Skirnir and his entire clan had landed, and had witnessed their rapid decay, step by step. They had refused to swear allegiance, and this was the price they had paid.

They both knew where their master was, and turned their steps toward the gaping hole in the mountainside where Ravana's tomb had been broken open. Light gleamed inside.

'Master,' Sif called tentatively. 'Master, Saphira and I are here.'

Silence.

'_Go on,'_ Saphira urged.

Sif took a deep breath, and entered the cave.

There was no-one in there.

Sif paused, confused. Ravana's bones still decorated the cave where he had lived – the colossal ribcage spiking toward the ceiling, behind the collapsed spine and the scatter of bones that were the wings and legs. But there was no-one else there – no sign of the equally enormous imposter that had taken his place.

'_Saphira,'_ Sif said as the blue dragon's head poked into the cave mouth after her. _'Where is he? There's nobody here.'_

'_Look,'_ Saphira said quietly.

Sif followed her partner's gaze, toward the source of the light. There was Ravana's skull, big enough to house a family, the horns, still attached, like the massive trunks of ancient trees. But there, perched incongrously on the snout, was something red.

'What…?' Sif began.

'_Sif.'_ Her master's mental voice was suddenly in her head, harsh and demanding as always. _'Where have you been? Come to me now.'_

Sif took another step forward. _'I don't understand,'_ she said. _'Where are you?'_

'_I am to your left. Come to me. Come now.'_

And, in that moment, as Sif turned to look in that direction, she saw the red shape on the skull move and realised it was a person.

Heart thudding, she hurried toward it. 'I'm coming. I'm here…'

As she drew closer, bewilderment began to grow in her mind. She had not seen her master change shape since the night when Skandar had been stabbed, but now…

This new shape was…

Sif's heart quickened.

It was an elf. A female elf, clad in a simple red gown. Pointed ears poked through a head of shaggy bark-brown hair, and she had a rough, lanky look to her that did not match the pictures she had seen of elves in books. As she turned, she revealed a pale face with an elf's alien features, but there was a silver ring through her nose and more in her ears, and her slanted eyes were burning gold.

'Master.' Sif faltered.

'Come to me,' the elf said, aloud this time, and though her voice was far lighter and more human now the tones were still completely recognisable. 'I have been waiting for you.'

Sif obeyed. 'I'm sorry, Master, I didn't… I've never seen…'

The elf looked at her, oddly blank. 'I was tired of that shape. I wanted…' she paused, and Sif saw her fingers twisting and knotting together in her lap. 'I missed this shape.'

'It's a beautiful shape, Master,' Sif said politely.

The elf made an odd noise, perhaps a cough, or perhaps a kind of half-sob or laugh. 'This is my true shape,' she said. 'This is the shape I was born to, long ago. Tell me, Sif… have you ever seen a shape such as this?'

'No, Master,' said Sif. She paused. 'I… no, Master.'

The elf stood, raising herself on her macabre seat. 'You have seen a shape like mine?'

'I… y… I'm not… yes, Master,' said Sif. 'I thought you-,' she broke off, suddenly aware that she had said something she shouldn't have, but it was too late now. 'I only thought you looked a little like… Queen Skade. I saw her once when I was a girl. Her eyes were gold too.'

The elf hissed. 'I told you never to say that name again, Sif. I told you.'

'I'm sorry,' Sif babbled. 'Please, Master, I didn't mean to upset you, but you wanted me to tell you…'

She spat. 'Be silent. No. The two-shape's mother, the half-breed's slut… she was never an elf. Only a dragon wearing an elvish skin. She was a living abomination, like her mate. Like her son.'

'Yes, Master,' Sif said instantly. 'They were evil and disgusting creatures, and I always hated them.'

The elf appeared to relax. 'Do not lie to me, little human. I know you lusted after the two-shape. Nothing you ever thought or felt is a secret from me.'

Sif bowed her head. 'I know… Master. Forgive me.'

The elf watched her silently for a while. 'I thought you would like to see my true shape, Sif,' she said abruptly. 'And you, Saphira. It has been many, many centuries since another living creature saw it, and I have… I have worn so many shapes since then… I missed it.'

This wasn't the first time her master had spoken like this. 'Yes, Master,' Sif said obediently, though inside she burned to ask more.

The elf, however, seemed happy to tell her regardless. 'I have a name,' she added. 'A true name, to go with my true shape. Would you like to hear it?'

'Yes, Master,' said Sif.

'I am Scathach,' the elf told her. 'That is the name I was given, long ago, in Du Weldenvarden. The only thing my mother ever gave me, aside from a bitter legacy and a doomed life.'

'So you were an elf all along,' Sif dared to say. 'I should have known it, Master. Only an elf could be as powerful as you.'

'Elf!' Scathach snarled, like a dragon. 'Little fool. What do you know? You know nothing! You have always known nothing!'

Sif backed away. 'Y…yes, Master.'

Scathach, still standing on the dragon skull, clenched her fist. 'I am a shapeshifter,' she said haughtily. 'The last of the true shapeshifters. I am the Princess of my kind, the bearer of the greatest legacy in Alagaësia's history. You riders… you people who destroyed my kind, you believe you have the greatest power there is, but you are arrogant, and you are fools the like of which this world should never had been forced to suffer. I have magic, and I have the power of a dragon at my command. I have _all_ powers. I can swim, fly, climb or burrow. I have all the wisdom and magical power of an elf, and the power of every other race that has ever existed. What is your own might, compared with that? You tell me! What are you, beside me?'

The elf's voice grew louder wilder by the moment, and Sif fell to her knees. Behind her, Saphira's own legs bent and she too grovelled, sharing her partner's fear.

Scathach composed herself. 'Nothing. Yes, you are nothing. You know that now. Yes. Nothing.' She seemed to be trying to reassure herself now, repeating the words like a child. 'You see now why you are the servant, and I am the master, don't you?'

'Yes, Master,' Sif managed.

'Good. Yes. You see it.' The shapeshifter ran her fingers over her face, breathing in deeply. 'Yes. And you see now why I destroyed the rest of your kind. What I did was not revenge, or madness, or a thirst for blood. I sought to destroy you for the sake of _justice. _Justice which has been denied to my race for too many centuries, too many thousands of years. Once we shapeshifters shared this land, with the dragons and the dwarves, and the humans, and hundreds of other races, wise and magnificent. But that was before the elves came, and created the riders. That was before their hate… burnt across the land, like a fire, destroying all in its path. Their madness, their _obsession_ with purity and the supremacy of their own race…' she withdrew her hands and her eyes snapped open, burning with insane hatred. 'They destroyed us! They destroyed us all! Hunted us down and _slaughtered_ us, as if we were animals! And so many others. Red dwarves, unicorn herders, sand people… even other elves! The dark elves, and the silver elves – all massacred. Done by your kind.'

Sif stood up. 'I know!' she yelled, unable to stop herself. 'Master, I _know!'_

Scathach paused, looking at her with an expression almost of shock. 'What?'

Sif hastily bowed her head. 'I know what the riders did, Master,' she said. 'We all knew. That was why Galbatorix destroyed the last generation of us. He wanted revenge for his race – the dark elves. And for all the others.'

'But then he sought to bring them _back,'_ Scathach spat. 'He betrayed us all.'

'He brought us back so we could make things better, Master,' Sif said, but she said it in a dull, flat voice, without conviction.

Scathach sneered. 'And then he destroyed himself in a fight with a Shade, and let himself be stabbed to death by his own son.'

Sif gaped at her. 'How do you know that?' she said.

'I know all,' said Scathach. 'All, Sif. For centuries, I have known everything that happened in Alagaësia.'

Sif only stared at her, not daring to ask any more questions – aware, with Saphira's sudden jab at her mind, that she had gone too far. If she provoked the shapeshifter any further…

'I have known betrayal, and I have known pain,' Scathach said suddenly. 'I have known all this. Yes. Long ago… do you wish to know how I was born, Sif?'

Sif nodded wordlessly.

An awful, painful sneer spread over the shapeshifter's face. 'Long ago… before your kind came into being, my father came to Du Weldenvarden where the elves had been living for only two generations. He disguised himself as one of them, and that was how he met my mother. He seduced her, with his sly tongue and his shining eyes. He was plagued by lust; he had always thirsted after women – all the women he could have. He lived with her for weeks, until…' the sneer faltered. 'But what my mother did not know was that she was not the first elf her new lover had bedded. He had already claimed another elf woman – Linnëa, whom he had betrayed for a younger woman. Linnëa found them together, and in her fury she stabbed my father to death. After that she fled, and was killed by other elves trying to hunt her down for her crime.'

Sif looked up; this story sounded familiar, and so did the name. But she couldn't remember how or where from.

Scathach's sneer returned. 'What none of them knew was that my mother was pregnant. When I was born, it did not take long for them to realise that I was not an elf, and that since my mother was not a shapeshifter she must have lain with one. When the elves realised it, they killed her for her obscenity and violation of their laws. I escaped, and for many years I lived alone in Du Weldenvarden, learning how to control my powers. But I returned. Years later, I returned – thirsting for revenge over my mother's death. I killed many of them before they captured me, and then…' she paused, and shuddered ever so slightly. 'They condemned me, not to death, but to everlasting imprisonment. To escape from them, I melded myself into the living wood of a tree, and the elves cast magic around it – trapping me inside forever. That tree became known as the Menoa tree.'

Sif's heart leapt. The Menoa tree! 'But…' she couldn't stop herself. 'But Linnëa was the one who was trapped inside the tree. Wasn't she, Master?'

Scathach's golden eyes narrowed. 'You cannot trust old stories. Whatever truth they hold is rarely useful, and the lies more beguiling. No. The Menoa tree was my prison, and I lived inside it and heard and saw all that took place around me. I learned the language of the trees, and all the trees of Alagaësia knew, I knew. I knew that if the tree was ever destroyed, I would be set free, and when I learned the name of Galbatorix and what he had been doing, I knew he could be my salvation. If he invaded Ellesméra… but he did not! He came to Ellesméra and he left the elves alive, and the tree untouched! He destroyed so much – why could he not have destroyed my prison?'

Sif watched her in silence, the maddened voice of the shapeshifter ringing in her ears. Quite suddenly, as she saw the pain show in Scathach's face, she saw the lines of age around her eyes and mouth, and on her forehead, and realised that the shapeshifter was much older than she had appeared. No… she was ancient.

'But the Shades released me,' Scatchach said at last. 'It was they who destroyed Ellesméra and tore down my prison. Now I am free, and I have had my revenge, and taken the power I deserve for my own. You see now, Sif? Do you see why I did what I did?'

Sif couldn't look at her. 'Yes, Master.'

There was a faint thud as Scathach jumped down from the skull. 'Do you see?' she repeated, stepping toward Sif. 'Do you?'

Sif looked up. 'Yes, Master.'

Scathach came closer. She was only a little taller than Sif. 'But you and I have much in common,' she added. 'Both of our fathers were murdered, both of our mothers were executed. Both of us act in the name of justic and duty. Do we not?'

Sif stared at her shoes, her whole soul burning to kill the shapeshifter. 'We do… Master,' she said, hating the words as they came out of her mouth.

'Look at me, Sif,' Scathach demanded.

Sif did, and found the other's face mere inches away from her own. But though the eyes still burnt, there was an expression there… was it pleading? Not knowing what was expected of her, she stared back, saying nothing.

The moment seemed to last for a long time before Scathach suddenly turned away. 'Go, then,' she said.

Sif hesitated. 'Master…'

'GO!' Scathach screamed the word as she whirled around, her whole face distorted with rage.

Sif backed away and then ran, with Saphira, and they didn't stop running until they were out of the cave. There Saphira crouched low. _'Get on!'_

Sif scrambled onto her back, and the blue dragon flew away at high speed.

When they had landed on the roost, Sif half-fell off her partner's back. Her legs buckled when she hit the ground, and she collapsed against Saphira's flank, shuddering.

Saphira touched her gently with her snout. _'Sif…'_

Sif wrapped her arms around Saphira's muzzle, clinging to it. _'Saphira. Gods, what was that? What _was_ that?'_

Saphira kept very still. _'I believe our Master has told us the truth. He… is a she. And a shapeshifter. That, at least, makes sense.'_

Sif realised she was crying – literally trembling with shock as tears ran down her face. _'But why?'_ she said. _'Why tell us? Why tell us anything?'_

'_Sif.' _Saphira's mental voice was low and gentle. _'Sif, be still. I am here. Sif.'_

Sif tried, but somehow that only made it worse, and she cried hard for several long minutes, holding onto Saphira as though her life depended on it. _'I wish I was dead, Saphira,'_ she said. _'Please, let me die. I don't want to live any more. It's too much. I can't stand it.'_

'_Sif-,'_

'_Everyone is dead!'_ Sif's mental voice was a scream. _'Everyone! There's nobody left! I can't do this, Saphira, I can't! I can't go on serving that… that _thing _for the rest of my life, I just can't. I can't. I won't. I want to die.'_

'_Sif.'_ Saphira's own voice was weak; cracked with her despair. _'Sif, we mustn't give up hope. We have to keep trying… we can find a way.'_

'WE CAN'T!' it came out aloud, almost as a bellow. 'Saphira, we can't!' said Sif. 'There is nothing we can do, nothing. We can't fight, we can't run, we can't do anything except what she tells us to do. There's nobody left to help us.'

'_Skandar could help us,'_ said Saphira. _'If he came back…'_

'_He won't,'_ said Sif, reverting to her mental voice. _'He's left us, Saphira. I sent him away. I told him… gods… I told him I could fight without him. I was so _stupid!_ Why am I always so stupid? Why couldn't… if we'd brought him with us, he could have come up with a plan. He would have known what to do; he always knows what to do.'_

'_There'll be a chance for us one day, Sif,'_ said Saphira. _'I know there will be.'_

_One day. _The words felt like arrows in Sif's heart. _'One day,'_ she repeated bitterly. _'Just like _her, _trapped inside that tree and waiting to get out. One day.'_

'_Yes,'_ said Saphira.

Sif stood up. _'I have to go to bed,'_ she said stiffly.

Saphira didn't try and stop her, and she went back inside and descended the staircase back to her own room. She slumped over the bed, neglecting to take off her shoes yet again.

'_Sif.'_

'_What?'_

Saphira's voice was distant. _'I think I know why she told us all that.'_

'_Why?'_ said Sif.

'_Because she is lonely,'_ said Saphira.


	26. Shadow's Ghost

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**Shadow's Ghost**

Sif's day began shortly after dawn. She had long since grown accustomed to her master's habit of summoning her at sunrise, and she and Saphira went straight to the King's Wood before the shapeshifter had called for them, not even pausing to have breakfast first. Scathach, as Sif now knew her master to be called, had been calling upon her and Saphira at least once a day since assuming power, and lately had been doing it several times, more and more frequently. Sometimes she had orders, sometimes not. Many times all she did was sit and brood while Sif and Saphira waited in silence for her to speak – and when she did speak it was often merely to send them both away again. These pointless visits were growing longer as well as more common, and they were taking their toll on Sif in particular.

When they arrived, it was to find Scathach back in Ravana's shape, lounging among the skulls and ribs in what Sif had come to think of as the boneyard. She looked perfectly calm now, even relaxed, as if what had happened on the previous night had not, in fact, happened at all.

Sif stumbled toward her, and knelt. 'Sire… my… Queen,' she said, uncertainly. 'Master. I have come.'

Scathach stood, Ravana's huge talons crushing Dreyri's skull under their weight. _'Good morning,'_ she said, and now her mental voice was her own rather than that of her stolen shape. _'Did you sleep well?'_

Sif's eyes ached with the effort of looking at her. _'Yes, master,'_ she said, lying.

'_And you, Saphira?'_

Saphira's stance was low and hunched, and her tail dragged on the ground. _'Yes, Master.'_

'_Good.'_ Scathach re-folded her massive wings. _'I have a task for you both.'_

Sif straightened up a little at that – it had been a long time since she had been given any definite orders. _'What do you want us to do, Master?'_

The great black tail thudded on the ground as it twitched. _'The weredragon has not returned, as I expected him to do.'_

Sif looked uncertain – the shapeshifter had paused, as if expecting her to say something. _'No, Master,'_ she managed.

Scathach appeared satisfied. _'Where, then, do you believe he could have gone?'_

'_I don't know, Master,'_ said Sif.

'_I have an idea, Master,'_ said Saphira.

Scathach turned Ravana's head to look at her. _'Yes?'_

'_Master, he was raised in another land, over the sea. I believe he may well have returned there.'_

'_How certain are you of this?'_ said Scathach.

'_I am quite certain, Master,'_ said Saphira. _'After all… if I may be bold… he has no family or friends here now, and he failed to win his – the throne he sought. He had several brushes with death… I do not think he would have believed it was worth his while to stay.'_

Scathach was silent for a time. _'Your theory is a good one, and may be true. However, I cannot rest easy on theories alone. If Skandar is like his father, then I would expect him to do other than merely flee. At first, perhaps, he may turn tail and run… but the Taranisäii never leave a fight half-fought or a battle undecided. How do we know he is not now in some city far from here, rallying support against us?'_

'_Master,'_ Sif began. _'I don't think-,'_

'_Silence! I am not interested in your opinions, human. What do you know of the ways of men and half-breeds?'_ Scathach hissed contemptuously. _'No. The two-shape is not gone until I am certain of it.'_

Saphira silenced her partner with a thought. _'What would you have us do, Master?'_

Mollified, Scathach withdrew her talons. _'I would have you leave Ilirea. You say you were Northwards when you parted from the two-shape – therefore, go North. Go to Gil'ead and question the nobles there. Make certain that the two-shape has not visited the city.'_

Sif's heart leapt. Leave Ilirea! The mere suggestion began to give back some of the hope she thought she had lost for good. If she went to Gil'ead, then perhaps she could find Skandar along the way. Perhaps she could find someone, anyone, who could help her. If she could only tell people the truth…

A low rasping, hacking noise interrupted her thoughts. It was dry and ancient – almost deathly.

She realised, slowly, that the giant dragon was laughing. _'You little empty-headed fool of a girl,'_ Scathach's voice mocked in her head. _'You think I have not guessed that you will try and betray me while you are away? There is nothing in your mind I cannot see. If you breathe a word of my true identity to another living soul, if you attempt to flee, if you ally with the two-shape, you will have betrayed me and so broken your oath. And you know what becomes of oathbreakers, Sif.'_

Sif felt her hope crumble as quickly as it had built up inside her. _'Yes, Master. I know.'_

'_Good. Then go. Return to the castle, and prepare.'_

'_Yes, Master.'_

'_Master.'_ Saphira spoke up. _'I have a question.'_

'_Speak.'_

'_What are we to do if we find the two-shape during our journey?'_

'_Ah.'_ Scathach radiated approval. _'A good question. If you do find him, or if he finds you, then I command you to take him prisoner. Bring him back here at once, to me. It is my right to kill him, and it will be your pleasure to witness it.'_

Saphira looked away. _'Yes… Master.'_

'_Good. I am pleased with you. Now go. When you are ready to leave, come here to me before you do. I would see you one last time before you depart.'_

Sif stood up and bowed low. _'Yes, Master.'_

She and Saphira returned to the castle, unspeaking, and Sif went inside to pack.

It was strange, she thought, as she folded several gowns ready to put them into a waterproof bag. Once she had packed a bag to go to Gil'ead, and now she was doing it again, but now… she felt as if it were a different girl who had gone to Ilirea, so many months ago, when her mother and stepfather were alive, and her friends.

_It _was_ a different girl,_ she thought suddenly. _It was a _girl._ I am not a girl any more. The girl died. I am a woman now. But what kind of woman…_ she bowed her head, wanting to cry, but her tears did not come. They stayed inside, boiling in her chest, like a great hard mass of heat and emotion – a spring, trapped in a cave from which it could never escape. Eroding it away from within, little by little.

She reached out for Saphira, as she had done so many times when she was distressed or uncertain. _'Saphira.'_

'_I am here, Sif.'_

'_Saphira, there really isn't any hope for us, is there?' _Sif felt quite calm as she asked the question._ 'There isn't, is there?'_

There was silence between them, before Saphira replied. _'No,'_ she said at last, quietly. _'I don't think there is, Sif.'_

Sif felt nothing. It was no more than what she had sensed her partner had been thinking for a long time now. After all, there were no secrets between dragon and rider.

She finished packing, and ate a very quick, scanty meal before returning to Saphira's side and strapping on her luggage and the saddle. After that they flew back to the King's Wood together.

While they were in the air, Sif felt Saphira give a little start. _'What is it?'_

'_I think I see something,'_ said Saphira. _'In the sky… ahead of us.'_

Sif strained her eyes, but saw nothing. _'What does it look like?'_

'_I'm not… no. It is only a cloud. My eyes are tired.'_

Saphira began her descent a moment later, toward the mountain, and they both easily spotted Scathach squatting on top of it. Saphira landed at the base of the mountain, and Sif dismounted. _'Master.'_

Scathach looked down at them, huge and imposing, like a statue come to life. _'You were commendably fast,'_ she said. _'Now. Listen well. If Gil'ead has no news of the two-shape, there are other things you must do whilst you are there.'_

'_Master?'_

Scathach shifted on her perch. _'Fly on beyond the city, to Du Weldenvarden. And then… destroy it.'_

Saphira blinked. _'Master?'_

'_Destroy it,'_ Scathach repeated impatiently. _'Surely even you can understand such a simple idea. I want that forest gone; every twig and branch. Burn the trees, poison the ground… I trust you to devise the most efficient way of doing so.'_

Sif wanted to ask why, but settled for another _'Yes, Master.'_

'_Once you have done that,' _the shapeshifter resumed, _'Return here with your report. After that, you must go to the other cities. I must be certain that my power is secure.'_

'_Yes, Master.'_

'_Sif. Sif!'_

Sif inadvertently glanced back at Saphira. _'Saphira? What?'_

'_Sif, there is… I can't… my oath…'_

Scathach quickly broke into their conversation. _'What is it? Speak, Saphira.'_

Saphira looked down at Sif, her great eyes distressed. _'Master, there is a dragon in the sky above you. You are in danger.'_

The warning came just in time. Scathach turned sharply, looking upward, and there it was.

In that instant, another voice broke into Sif's mind, loud and urgent. _'SIF! Sif, can you hear me?'_

Sif rose from her knees. _'Skandar…?'_

The lean grey dragon circled high above, his voice in her head faint but familiar. _'Sif, who is this? This isn't Ravana. Who is he?'_

'_Skandar!'_ Sif groped for her sword. _'Skandar, get out of here!'_

Scathach rose, growling. _'Do nothing. This is my fight.'_

With a last burst of defiance, Sif called out to him. _'She's a shapeshifter. Skandar, she wants to kill you! Get away!'_

Skandar's mental voice was low. _'In my father's name,'_ he said. _'In the name of King Galbatorix Taranisäii.'_ And then, without any warning, he dropped out of the sky like a stone.

Scathach was ready for him. She reared onto her hind legs, mouth wide open, her talons outstretched. Skandar didn't seem to care. He fell, head-downward, straight toward her.

Sif screamed. _'SKANDAR!'_

But there was nothing she could do. Nothing.

And then, without a sound – with no warning, and no sound but a sudden blur of movement, a second dragon burst out of the trees. Sif saw the white scales and the silver wings, an instant before the second attacker's momentum carried her straight up the mountainside, toward the ravening giant. She hit Scathach square in the back, and her jaws closed around her right wing, tearing through the scale and deep into the flesh beneath. Scathach screamed, turning to face this new threat, and in that moment Skandar hit her in the neck and latched on with tooth and talon.

Scathach screamed. It came out as a bellow – Ravana's famous roar, so loud it shook both Sif and Saphira to their knees. But as Sif fell, she could feel a fierce joy burning in her heart. Skandar had come back. He would save her, she knew it, knew it…

But Scathach was far from defeated. She shook Laela off as if she were no more than a flea, sending the white dragon hurtling down the mountainside, where she landed in a heap not far away from Sif and Saphira, whining in pain.

With Laela out of the way, she could deal with Skandar next. She reached up, arching her neck under his weight, and her talons closed around his body. Without a moment's pause, ignoring the weredragon's teeth and talons still embedded in her flesh, she tore him free. Blood fountained out of the huge rents he had torn in her neck, carrying scales and shreds of flesh with it. But the giant dragon acted as if she had felt nothing. Skandar, imprisoned in the monstrous talons, struggled with all his might, roaring back at her, but he may as well have tried to push over a mountain. Scathach paused to grip him more securely and then hurled him away with all her might. He shot backward through the air, wings flailing uselessly, and hit the fringe of trees at the edge of the boneyard, so hard that several thick trunks shattered. His body left a deep furrow in the dirt, and he lay at the end of it, unmoving.

Sif threw herself flat, but she felt the ground shudder at his landing. She didn't dare get up again, and she felt herself shaking violently all over, sobs and incoherent screams and babbling pouring out of her mouth.

Still perched on the mountaintop, blood pouring from her wounds, Scathach reared into the sky and screamed her rage.

The scream bit into Skandar's ears, reviving his stunned senses. He lay in the trench his landing had created, his head swimming. One wing was crumpled beneath him. He knew it was broken. Probably beyond repair. Two of his legs were little better. His neck and spine were a solid mass of pain, and his mouth tasted of blood.

'_Laela… Laela?'_

He managed to sense Laela's mind. It was a confusion of pain and confused whisperings and clamouring. She did not reply.

Skandar tried to rise, and then slumped to the ground. The motion sent more pain crackling through his ribs and back, and he groaned.

The ground shook as Scathach leapt down from the mountain. Skandar saw her pause briefly to examine Laela, and then come on toward him. He made another attempt to rise, wanting to confront the shapeshifter properly, but his shattered legs refused to support him any more. He was crippled. Helpless.

Ravana's face seemed to fill the sky, the eyes staring down at him with an expression of pure fury burning inside them. But the mental voice sounded quite calm.

'_Skandar Taranisäii,'_ it intoned. _'Son of Galbatorix Taranisäii. Prince to the Mad King, two-shaped mix-breed, descendant of Traegan the Traitor and Taranis the Tyrant.'_

Skandar managed to raise his head and look straight at her. _'Murderer.'_

She laughed Ravana's dry, hacking laugh. _'The ways and the minds of men have never ceased to amuse me. When you kill, it is justice. When I kill, it is murder.'_

Skandar let his head slump back. _'I'm in too much pain to be interested in a debate, shapeshifter. Stop wasting my time and kill me.'_

Scathach radiated grim amusement. _'You have your father's tongue.'_

'_No, that was still in his mouth when he died,'_ Skandar said dryly. _'I have my own tongue. And you're exercising yours for no reason. Get on with it.'_

'_Oh I will,'_ she said. _'I will.'_

Skandar saw her move above him and closed his eyes, bracing himself. An instant later, burning heat spread through his entire body, concentrating itself in his legs, wings and back. His wounds screamed. He shuddered and trembled uncontrollably, strangled whines and moans escaping from between his clenched teeth. His talons dug into the ground, tearing at it, and his free wing twitched.

The burning sensation died away, and the pain went with it. Skandar shuddered and groaned, too drained even to feel relieved.

Scathach stepped backward. _'Now get up.'_

Skandar's eyes opened, and he saw her towering over him. His instincts snapped into his mind, commanding him to fight, and he struggled to his feet. To his bewilderment, there was no pain – nothing but a lingering weakness which soon faded away. He was healed.

He looked up at Scathach, utterly bewildered. _'What…?'_

She bared Ravana's teeth. _'You did not think I would want it to be over that quickly, did you? So easily, without a proper fight?'_

Skandar began to growl. _'I don't want a fight. I want answers, shapeshifter. Why did you kill the riders? What is it you want?'_

She growled back. _'I want what you want, weredragon. I want revenge.'_

'_Revenge for what?'_ said Skandar. _'Because the riders destroyed your kind? Yes, I know about that. My father told me about the crimes of his predecessors. He was ashamed of it all his life.'_

'_Revenge for that I have had,'_ said Scathach. _'Now I would have revenge on your father, and if he is not here, then I will have revenge on you. I am one whom your father betrayed.'_

Skandar spread a wing over his head. _'Oh no, not another one.'_

Scathach paused and then, unexpectedly, laughed. She continued to laugh as she lashed out, hard, with her tail, hitting Skandar in the chest and bowling him over like an insect caught in a gale. He landed hard, on his side, and before he could get up she was on him, pinning him down with a massive talon. When he struggled she pressed down harder, and harder, until his ribs cracked audibly and he screamed. She continued to crush him mercilessly, but just when it looked as if she were going to kill him she abruptly lifted her talon and dealt him another massive blow, flicking him away. He hit the mountainside, and for a moment he struggled there, his talons scrabbling at the stone before he lost his grip and went sliding backward. Straight into Scathach's waiting jaws.

Her teeth closed on him, piercing his scales in a hundred different places without seriously injuring him, but trapping him. Skandar fought back, his hind talons tearing at her tongue.

The response was immediate. He felt immense heat gathering behind him, and, an instant later, searing, agonising pain covered him all over, every inch. Ravana's black fire enveloped him, hotter than the flames of a hundred lesser dragons. It was destroying him, burning him away into nothing. Skandar blacked out from the sheer agony of it, but it was not enough to stop the pain. His disintegrating ears were full of an unearthly, distorted scream that went on and on, unending and insane.

The fire abruptly vanished, and Scathach threw him away with a toss of her head. He was unconscious before he landed.

Burning magic brought him back. He woke up, shaking, and felt the healing spell repair his flesh yet again, knitting the skin back together as the scales regrew. His sight and hearing returned as the spell was completed, and some feeble strength returned.

Scathach was laughing, laughing horribly. _'Oh, you see? You see how, two-shape? You see what we can do together?'_ she laughed again, mentally and aloud, thrashing Ravana's wings and tail. _'How many times I can kill you, and then bring you back… how many ways I can torture you. This body's reserves of magic are limitless. There is no end to the things I can do. Shall I use magic next? Would you like that, little Prince?'_

Skandar, struggling to rise, felt something inside him snap. Before he knew what he was doing he was trying to run at her, mouth open to breathe fire, his mental voice screaming, screaming everything that came into his head, hurling dark elvish obscenities and curses at her with all his might.

Scathach only laughed and hit him again, throwing him backward into a heap of shattered bones.

Time seemed to slow, as he watched her walk toward him. He could see Laela, silently convulsing not far away. And he saw Saphira, running forward…

'_NO!'_

The scream was mental, and aloud at the same time, and it came from two throats at once.

Saphira flung herself in front of the oncoming giant, and Sif was by her side, sword drawn.

'Leave him alone!' she yelled.

Scathach reared up. _'Do you defy me?'_ she screamed, her mental voice projected into every mind there.

'Yes!' Sif shouted back. 'In the name of my father, Eragon Shadeslayer, I…'

Skandar, watching, saw it happen as if in a dream. Sif broke off mid-sentence, her body suddenly becoming rigid. The sword dropped out of her hand, and a moment later she collapsed beside it. Saphira took a step toward her, and then her legs buckled and she too fell. Neither of them moved again.

Scathach swept the two limp forms away from her with a roar of rage. _'YOU WILL DIE!'_

Skandar saw the movement behind her. _'Laela!' _he called involuntarily.

Snarling, Scathach turned to face this new threat. Laela had risen and was walking toward her, slowly and stiffly. She completely ignored the infuriated shapeshifter, and moved straight toward Skandar, and as he looked up at her he saw something in her eyes that should not have been there. Almost… a glow.

'_Laela, don't,'_ he called. _'Get away! Laela!'_

Laela ignored him. She stepped between him and Scathach and turned to face the shapeshifter.

'_Do not stand in my way,'_ Scathach warned. _'I have no fight against you; do not make me kill you.'_

If Laela heard her, she didn't show it. She stood, stiff-legged, her flanks heaving. Behind her, Skandar saw her tail suddenly cease its twitching. Her wings rose and then pointed outward from her flanks, perfectly straight and still, and then she stretched her neck out in front of her, mouth wide open as if to flame.

Scathach bared her teeth. _'I will not warn you again. Move!'_

Laela's eyes bulged, rolling back into her head. She took a deep breath, and breathed out.

But what came forth was not flame. A white mist poured between her teeth and out of her eyes and nostrils, forming a diffuse cloud in front of her. The cloud did not dissipate but became denser as more mist emerged, and, from within it, a point of white light began to glow.

Scathach backed away, uncertain for the first time. _'What magic is this?'_ she said. _'What are you doing?'_

But Laela could not reply. She seemed to be under the control of some force beyond her own will, and she did not move. When the last of the mist had escaped from her, she silently collapsed onto her stomach and did not get up.

The mist grew yet thicker, drawing itself in toward the point of light, and in moments Scathach and Skandar saw it become more and more defined. It was shaping itself into something.

A pair of eyes opened, somewhere above the point of light, and in that moment the shaping was complete.

Skandar screamed. _'No!'_

Scathach was gaping in bewilderment. _'This… how is this possible?'_ she demanded.

The shape ignored her. It turned to look at Laela, walking silently toward her. Skandar saw it crouch and touch her snout, murmuring to her. She looked up at it, and her tail flicked briefly before she closed her eyes again. The shape straightened up and came toward him, and he managed to stand to meet it, his heart thudding.

_Hello, Skandar._ The voice was distant, whispering, but real.

Skandar made a coughing sound that was almost a sob. _'No.'_

Scathach, recovering from her shock, began to advance on them. _'Begone! I command you to be gone! You are not here, you are not real!'_

The ghost of Galbatorix Taranisäii turned to face her. _Keep away from my son, shapeshifter._


	27. Fighting Shadows

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**Fighting Shadows**

'_You are dead!'_ Scathach roared. _'How can you be here? You are dead!'_

The ghost sniggered. _Yes. That would explain why I'm a ghost._

Skandar reached out toward him. _'Father. Father!'_

Galbatorix looked back at him. _Skandar. Don't try and move. You might be hurt._

'_Father, please…'_ Skandar slumped down again. _'How…?'_

Galbatorix came closer, his spectral face full of sorrow. _Skandar, I told you not to come back here. I made you promise. Why didn't you listen to me?_

'_Father, I'm sorry,'_ Skandar sobbed. _'I know you did, but how could I trust you after what happened?'_

Galbatorix reached out to touch him, but his ghostly fingers felt like nothing but an icy breeze. _I know. But you can't blame yourself. Laela was right. My end was something I brought on myself. You didn't kill me. All you did was defend yourself. You were so brave. You were always brave._

Skandar lifted his head. _'Father, why are you here? How did you do this?'_

Galbatorix looked toward Laela, and Scathach, pausing uncertainly beyond. _Laela brought me here. A ghost can't stay in the world of the living for very long, but I could live… exist inside her. Our link gave me a path back. But I couldn't stay in her body for long; it was driving her insane… killing her. Oh gods…_ his shape had begun to fade, the light dying. _I'm going. I'm starting to vanish. _

Skandar stood up. _'Father! Please, don't go!'_

_I have to,_ Galbatorix said sadly. _Skandar, listen. Listen! Move Laela out of the way. Get her to safety. Don't try and interfere. There's nothing you can do, and I don't want you to get hurt. Do you understand?_

'_Yes. Father…'_

_Then here I go._ Galbatorix squared his shoulders and ran forward, toward Laela, fading as he ran. He passed the white dragon and went on, and now his legs were no longer visible. But he kept going, charging straight at Scathach, utterly silent all the while.

Scathach reared up, claws spread to defend herself. But there was no defence against this. When she lashed out, her paw went straight through the ghost. Galbatorix reached her, and launched himself upward, turning back into a white mist and pouring into the giant dragon's body – into the mouth and eyes, between the scales, like water soaking into the earth. Scathach went rigid, unable to move or resist.

The last of the mist disappeared inside her, and a second later she went staggering backward, slamming into the mountain so hard that a huge chunk of it broke away and thudded down on top of her. She acted as if she hadn't felt it at all. For a moment she lay still, and then she began to thrash.

Something galvanised Skandar into action. He rushed forward and dragged Laela toward the relative shelter of the trees. She was alive, but too weak to move. Once he had settled her down and reassured her by nuzzling her shoulder, he returned for Sif and Saphira.

Neither of them were moving. He dragged Saphira over to Laela's side, and placed Sif against her stomach, protected by her partner's talons.

An awful, howling, screaming sound split the air. Skandar moved forward, placing himself protectively in front of Laela, and watched as Scathach continued to convulse. The giant dragon flailed at the air, scattering bones and churning up the earth, screaming all the while. Once she became still, but then her struggle resumed and she thrashed more violently, tearing at herself and bellowing in agony.

Skandar too felt agony. He stood in indecision, wanting to do something but not knowing what or how. But he knew his father's ghost was somewhere inside the mad dragon, and to do nothing but stand there and watch made him feel almost physical pain.

Scathach's struggle went on for a long time before she collapsed, quite suddenly, hitting the ground with a sickening thump and a crack of breaking bone. She lay still for a moment, and then Skandar saw a white mist come pouring out of her open mouth. Just as before, with Laela, he saw the mist begin to shape itself into a tall, thin figure with a point of light at its heart, but it did so much more slowly this time, sometimes disintegrating back into mist for a moment.

While the ghost struggled to regain a shape, the giant dragon's paws twitched. The mouth snapped shut, and Scathach lumbered to her feet.

The ghost finally managed to shape itself, but Skandar, watching, was suddenly confused. That wasn't his father, that was… someone else. A woman.

The giant dragon stepped away from her, mouth open to laugh. _'Thankyou for the body, my Lady,'_ his mental voice said, and now…

Scathach's ghost stared into the face of her old body, and then down at her own spectral form. Then she screamed. _NO!_

'_I'm sorry,'_ Galbatorix's mental voice mocked. _'But it seemed to me you weren't making very good use of this body. And as it happens, I've lost my own.'_ Ravana's eyes closed, almost blissfully. _'Oh yes. Hmm. Oh yes indeed. This is a powerful body. Oh, the things I could have done with these powers…'_

Scathach stepped toward him. _Give it back! Give me back my body!_

But Galbatorix only laughed at her. _'Not now. I'm still using it. But I should warn you; I'm very tough on the body I live in. You should have seen what happened to the last one.'_

Scathach screamed again, but her voice had begun to fade. _No! Please, I don't want to die! No!_

Galbatorix sat on his haunches and watched dispassionately, as the shapeshifter's ghost faded, thinning out and becoming more transparent until it was gone altogether. Like a bad dream. _'Goodbye, Scathach.'_

Skandar ran forward. _'Father!'_

Galbatorix turned Ravana's head to look at him. _'Skandar. Are you all right?'_

'_I'm fine,' _said Skandar. _'Father… is it you? Are you back?'_

'_Wait a moment,'_ Galbatorix told him. _'I need to think…'_ he sat very still, eyes closed, and then he began to shrink. Skandar watched, as the form of the monstrous black dragon melted away.

When the change was complete, it left behind a tall, thin man – black-haired and black-eyed, with a pointed goatee and long, thin fingers. He wore a black robe, and his face was stern and angular… and so familiar.

Galbatorix grinned. 'Now this is a shape I like,' he said.

Skandar crouched low, staring at him. _'Father! Father, you're…'_

Galbatorix sighed and put his hand to his throat. It came away drenched in blood. 'I do believe my time in this body is just about finished. Skandar…'

Skandar's eyes widened. _'Father… the wounds…'_

'A shapeshifter carries his wounds on to every shape he wears,' said Galbatorix. 'As I'm sure you know.' He coughed, and groaned. 'Oh. Being alive… hurts. I forgot.' He clutched at his lacerated throat, but the blood trickled between his fingers. 'Skandar…'

'_Father,'_ Skandar said desperately. _'Father, please don't die. Stay.'_

Galbatorix removed the hand from his throat, and reached out to touch Skandar's snout. 'I don't have time,' he said. 'Listen.'

'_Father, don't let go!'_ said Skandar. _'You have to stop the bleeding – you'll die!'_

'I'm already dead, Skandar,' said Galbatorix, his voice becoming hoarse. 'I can't… a soul can only live in the body it was born to. This one is… already starting to reject me. Skandar, listen.' He coughed painfully. 'The Empire needs a ruler, needs… someone to protect it. The King is dead, but the throne…'

'_You want me to rule,'_ said Skandar.

'No,' Galbatorix breathed. 'No, I never wanted you to… rule. You don't want to rule this land, Skandar. It'll destroy you. Just as it destroyed me. The throne… passes from father to son. The King's son. Kullervo is coming. He'll be here soon. If you… want to help the Empire… then make one last sacrifice. Help Kullervo.'

'_I will,'_ said Skandar.

'Good…' Galbatorix sighed, and Skandar saw his hair fade and uncurl, becoming shaggy and bark-brown. The eyes changed from black to burning gold, and as he collapsed his form melted into that of an elf, female. White mist rose out of her body, forming itself back into a ghost.

Skandar realised that there were tears on his face. _'Father.'_

Galbatorix's ghost smiled. _Don't cry, Skandar. There's nothing to grieve for. I had a long life, and now I can rest. Why should you let my death rule your life? It's yours. I gave it to you to do what you want with. You're free, Skandar._

'_But I don't know what to do,'_ said Skandar. _'Father, I'm… lost. I have no home, no family… nowhere to go.'_

_If you have no home, then make a home,_ said Galbatorix. _And if you have no family, find one. You have Laela. Laela…_

The white dragon had come quietly to join them. _'Galbatorix,'_ she said.

He stroked her snout. _Laela. My sweet Laela. You've done so much. You need to rest. I've haunted you long enough._

'_But I don't want you to go!'_ Laela cried.

Galbatorix had begun to fade. _But I won't, Laela,_ he said. _Don't you see? I can't go back to the land of the dead. That way is closed to me forever. I'll be here until the end of time._

'_But how will I see you?' _said Laela. _'How will I talk to you?'_

Galbatorix's body dissipated, leaving nothing but a cloud of mist. But his eyes were still visible, just for a moment, crinkled in a smile. _The world can hear our voices,_ he whispered, barely audible. _All you have to do is listen, and when the wind is right…_

The eyes vanished, and they both heard the last whisper on the wind. _Of earth born, and in fire forged… may the moon watch over you, always…_

And then it was gone.

Skandar and Laela stayed together at the foot of the mountain for a long time, saying nothing, both watching the empty air where Galbatorix's spirit had been, moments before, his voice still lingering in their ears. Laela silently moved toward Skandar, pressing herself against him for comfort. He rested his neck on hers, listening to her breathing, and they stayed like that, sharing their grief.

But for Skandar, there was more than sadness or regret in his chest; there was a kind of peace as well, as if he had just been healed from a wound he didn't even know he had until it stopped hurting. And more than that…

'_He's gone,'_ Laela whispered at last.

Skandar straightened up. _'No, Laela. He's not gone, and he never will be. He's still here, somewhere. I can feel it. You brought him home.'_

Laela buried her face in his flank. _'My heart hurts, Skandar.'_

'_It will heal.'_

Skandar didn't want to leave her, but he knew there were things he had to do. He pulled away as gently as he could, and went to check on Sif and Saphira, probing gently at their minds to see if he could get a response.

Eventually, Laela came to join him. _'Are they…?'_

Skandar looked up at her, and silently shook his head.

Laela bowed her own head, and shuddered gently. _'So much gone.'_

Skandar looked down at Sif's white, still face. _'She loved me, you know,'_ he said. _'That was why she tried to save me. If I'd only… if I could have loved her back…I let her down. Failed her.'_

'_But you came back for her,'_ Laela told him gently. _'You did care for her.'_

'_I came back because you persuaded me to,'_ said Skandar.

'_You wouldn't have let me persuade you if you didn't care,'_ said Laela.

Skandar lifted his snout to the sky, and howled. It was a mournful, angry howl, and went on for a long time.

Much later, when he had lain down to rest, Laela came to curl up beside him. _'What are we going to do now, Skandar?'_

He glanced at her. _'We wait.'_

'_But for what?'_

'_For the rightful King to come. If Father was right, then he will come.'_

'_But what if he doesn't?'_ Laela asked doubtfully. _'Kullervo hasn't been seen for years… people say he died a very long time ago.'_

Skandar chuckled sadly. _'If there's one thing I've learnt, Laela, it's that you should never listen to what people say. They'll say anything.'_

Laela grinned for the first time in many long years. _'Very true.'_

'_So…'_ Skandar paused. _'Are you… better now, Laela?'_

'_I think so. I feel much better than I have done in a long time. Who knows – maybe I really can have my own clutch of eggs now. Ones that will hatch.'_

'_Laela, I'm sorry about-,'_

'_Don't. We all need something to cling to, sometimes. Even if it's nothing but a hollow shell. Ah…'_ Laela sighed. _'I need to rest.'_

'_Rest, then. I'll keep a lookout.'_

Skandar flew to the top of the mountain, ignoring his own tiredness, and kept sentry there while Laela slept on the battlefield, not far from the dead shapeshifter. After all that had happened, he reflected, with so much pain inflicted on the living because of the dead, it was strange that it was one of the dead who had saved them in the end.

_But saved so few of us,_ Skandar thought. _Father, you came too late. Too late for Skirnir and Lifrasir, too late for Dreyri, too late for Valdyr. Too late for Sif._

He felt a lump in his throat – such a human thing for a dragon. And he would be a dragon forever now. He had spent far too long in this shape, experienced so much trauma… his own power had failed him, and with the riders gone there was no magic that could change him back. He could never live a human life again, never take a wife, never know the subtleties of human hands and fingers, and laughter. So much gone.

_At least you're alive,_ he told himself harshly. _What right do you have to feel sorry for yourself? Sif is dead, and so is the rest of your entire family! _

He wanted to howl again at the thought, but he didn't want to wake Laela. Instead, he bowed his head and wept. He had never cried in dragon form before, and it had been a long time since he had truly cried in any shape.

The rest of the day dragged by, and night began to gather its dark blanket over the earth, spreading shadows between the trees and beneath the mountain. And Skandar cried.

As the moon began to rise, his sobs finally subsided, leaving him feeling weak but strangely happy. He watched the moon, glowing faintly on the horizon. A half-moon. A time for destiny, when the moon was between full and gone, and fate teetered on the brink, caught between one future and another.

Skandar bowed his head, letting its light shine on his scales. _'Protect me, moon. Spirits of the night watch over me, and lead me home. I plead with ye, watch over this land, and watch over those I love. I beseech thee, protect Laela and give her peace and happiness, as she deserves. I ask thee, embrace the spirit of my father and give him his rest. I implore thee, guide the souls of the dead to their home, if they be human, dragon or elf. I pray thee… give us hope.'_

He had not prayed for a long time, but he hoped the spirit of the moon had heard him.

'_I have never asked you for much,'_ he added. _'Grant me those small wishes at least.'_

His tiredness had begun to get the better of him, and he fell into a shallow sleep before the moon had risen much further.

His sleep never did deepen, and he jerked awake at the sound of wingbeats overhead. He pulled himself back to his paws, looking upward to see a dragon flying over the wood.

He reared up, and sent out a call. A few moments later the other dragon responded. Skandar called again, signalling the dragon to land, which it did, touching down at the base of the mountain. He flew down to meet it.

'_Skuld!'_

The silver dragon ran to meet him, disregarding the two people seated on her back, and nuzzled him fiercely. _'Skandar! Thank gods yer alive! We thought maybe…'_

Skandar nuzzled her briefly in return. _'Skuld, your rider probably wants to get off.'_

She backed off. _'Oh, right, right… sorry.'_ She crouched low, allowing Senna and the other passenger to dismount. Laela, having woken up at the noise, came to meet them, with Skandar.

Senna looked around, her broad, honest face full of horror. 'What in the names of the dear sweet gods _happened?'_

Skandar sat back on his haunches. _'Senna, Skuld, this is Laela.'_

Senna bowed to her, and Skuld dipped her head. _'S'an honour t'meet yer, Laela.'_

'Same 'ere.'

'Enough of this,' a rough voice interrupted, as the second rider pushed his way forward. He was a big man, square and roughly-built, with thick limbs and a heavy, aggressive face. His eyes were unnatural gold, with slitted pupils, and the shaggy hair that reached down over his shoulders was lurid orange. 'Who are you?' he demanded, of Skandar.

Laela started forward. _'Kullervo!'_

The man glanced at her. 'Laela? I know you.'

'_And I know you,'_ said Laela. _'Kullervo, thank gods you're alive! We'd given up hope!'_

'That would make you the only one,' Kullervo growled. 'You, grey dragon. What is your name?'

Skandar dipped his head. _'I am Skandar.'_

The orange-haired man showed no emotion. 'So you are the half-breed's son.'

'_I am. Lord Kullervo, I'm overjoyed to see you're alive.'_

Kullervo's lips drew back slightly, showing his sharp teeth. 'I am not here to exchange pleasantries. Where is your father, weredragon? Where is the half-breed?'

'Yeah, it's him we've come t'see,' Senna put in.

'_Where's Galbatorix?'_ said Skuld.

Skandar glanced at Laela. _'I think, maybe…'_

'_My partner is dead,'_ Laela told them softly.

All three of them paused at that.

'What?' Senna said blankly. 'What d'yer mean, dead?'

'_He died a long time ago,'_ said Laela. _'In Tara.'_

Kullervo's only reaction had been to bow his head. He suddenly looked a lot smaller. 'How did he die?' he asked roughly, looking up.

'_He committed suicide,'_ said Laela, before Skandar could speak. _'We both witnessed it.'_

Senna's mouth had dropped open. 'The King… he… Skandar, what…?'

'_My father killed himself,' _Skandar confirmed. _'I'm sorry, Senna. I should have told you sooner. I just… wasn't ready to.'_

Senna covered her face with her hands, and said nothing more.

Skuld moved closer to her partner, to comfort her. _'Skandar… I'm sorry.'_

'_It's all right, Skuld,'_ Skandar told her. _'I think I've made peace with it now.'_

'What happened here?' Kullervo interrupted. 'Where is the one who killed the riders? Where is the shapeshifter?'

Skandar stared at him. _'How did you…?'_

'It is not important,' said Kullervo. 'Where is she? I must know.'

'_Dead,'_ said Skandar.

Kullervo froze. 'When? How?'

'_Today,'_ said Skandar. _'Come with me; I can show you.'_

He led the orange-haired man the short distance to where Scathach's body lay. Kullervo crouched to inspect it, turning it over with rough, black-clawed hands. He checked for a pulse, and sighed. 'Then that is it. We have come too late.'

There was a movement beside him, and a second later Skandar hissed and backed away.

On the ground beside Kullervo, apparently from out of nowhere, a man had appeared. He grew upward, as if he had sprouted out of the earth, so quickly it made Skandar's heart leap into his mouth.

'_What-?'_ the weredragon almost shouted.

Kullervo straightened up and unfastened the cloak from around his shoulders. 'Do not be afraid. You are not in danger.'

The stranger took the cloak and wrapped it around himself, covering his nakedness. He looked like a young man – only a little older than Skandar himself. His skin was pale, his features wild and a little alien. He had shaggy black hair, and golden eyes. Apparently oblivious to Skandar's presence, he crouched beside Scathach's body, running his fingers over her face and through her hair. He checked her pulse, like Kullervo, and then silently reached down and closed her eyes. 'And so it ends,' he murmured, to no-one in particular.

Laela had heard Skandar's cry, and came running. _'What is this?'_ she demanded. _'Who are you?'_

The stranger stood up, facing her. 'Be calm; I'm no threat to you.'

'_Who are you?'_ Skandar repeated, taking a threatening step toward him. _'How did you appear like that?'_

The stranger smiled very slightly. 'I didn't appear. I was only too small for you to see me before. I came here with Kullervo – hiding in his beard, actually. You're Skandar, aren't you?'

'_I am,'_ Skandar said brusquely.

'And you're Laela.' This time, it wasn't a question.

Laela was staring at him. _'You… I know you. I know you, don't I? Somehow…'_

'You do. We met, a long, long time ago, when I was a little less old than I am now. I wore my wolf-shape most of the time then.'

The white dragon's eyes widened. _'You! It's you!'_

'_Who is he, Laela?'_ said Skandar.

The man bowed toward him. 'I am Faegareth,' he said. 'I am a shapeshifter. The last… of my kind.'

At that, Skandar finally realised what had been nagging at him all this time. _'Of course! Your eyes… just like…'_

Faegareth looked down at Scathach. 'Just like my daughter's. Yes.'

'_Your… oh gods.'_ Skandar groaned softly.

Faegareth appeared quite calm, as he looked down at his daughter's body. 'I was looking for her a long time. When I found out she was in Ellesméra, I didn't dare try and get to her. She was in the heart of enemy territory, after all.' He sighed. 'But I doubt I could have done anything for her anyway. What the elves did to her drove her mad.'

'_What the elves did drove many people mad,'_ said Laela.

'Yes.' As Faegareth pulled the cloak over his shoulders, Skandar could see the deep scars on his chest. 'I don't blame you for killing her.' He touched Kullervo lightly on the shoulder. 'Kullervo… I'm sorry. I tried.'

Skandar looked at Kullervo, noticing how defeated the former dragon looked. _'Tried what?'_

'Kullervo wants to become a dragon again,' Faegareth said simply. 'He sought me out and begged me to help him. Unfortunately, the only plan I could come up with has failed. Although, even if we had found her alive… perhaps it would have failed anyway.'

'_Why?'_ said Skandar. _'How could Scathach have helped Kullervo?'_

Faegareth rubbed his eyes. 'It's quite simple, actually. You see…' he sighed. 'When the shapeshifters were still here, in numbers, it wasn't unknown for one of us to become trapped in one shape. More or less, that is what happened to Kullervo. When it happens, the only thing that can reverse the condition is another shapeshifter. Unfortunately, thanks to the riders, shapeshifters have become… somewhat difficult to find. Among other races, of course. I would never pretend that my race was the only one to be destroyed by their madness.'

'_So you needed Scathach,'_ said Laela.

'Yes.'

'_But why can't _you_ do it?'_ said Skandar.

'Because… it's not as simple as that,' said Faegareth. 'A shapeshifter must… when a shapeshifter uses his power to rescue another, it has an effect on him. The condition can't be cured; only passed along. If I gave Kullervo my power, to change him back, I would be trapped in one shape forever.'

'_I see,'_ Laela said cynically. _'But you don't mind if it happens to someone else.'_

'My daughter was a murderer,' Faegareth snapped. 'Her life would have been forfeited anyway. She made her own choice. And I know it's selfish, but… Laela, I am the last shapeshifter. The _last._ If I die, or become crippled, there will be no chance for my race to come back. I…' he paused, and smiled a little nastily. 'I have always done what I can to bring us back, but I am getting old. And now the only child I know for certain I did father is gone. But I need just one more chance. Do you understand? I cannot let my race die simply because I want to help Kullervo.'

Skandar took a deep breath. _'Then let me do it,' _he said.

Laela looked sharply at him. _'Skandar, what are you talking about?'_

'_I'm a weredragon,'_ said Skandar. _'I'm a shapeshifter, even if I only have two shapes. Can I help Kullervo?'_

Faegareth scratched his chin. 'Hmm…'

'_Can I?' _

'Yes. You can. But Skandar… the consequences…'

'_It doesn't matter,'_ said Skandar. _'Faegareth, I'm already trapped – in dragon form. I can't change anyway.'_

Faegareth looked keenly at him. 'Why?'

'Trauma; wounds, emotion. I've been trying to change back for weeks, and I can't.'

The shapeshifter's expression cleared. 'But that condition is only-,'

Skandar shut out the others, addressing Faegareth alone. _'I guessed it might wear off, but that doesn't matter. Don't let the others know; I want to do this. I must help Kullervo.'_

'_Are you sure?'_

'_Yes,'_ Skandar said immediately. _'Faegareth – Kullervo is the only heir to the throne. He must rule here, but in dragon shape. If trapping myself forever is what it takes, then I will do it.'_

'_You barely know him,'_ said Faegareth. _'Skandar, this will be forever.'_

'_I know. But my father wanted me to protect the Empire, and if this is what it will take… then so be it.'_

Faegareth nodded. 'I was going to say that the condition will not stop you from helping Kullervo,' he said aloud.

'_Is it dangerous?'_ said Laela.

'It will weaken him,' said Faegareth. 'But it won't be anything plenty of rest can't heal.'

'_Are you sure?'_

'Yes. I've seen it, several times. You can trust me.'

'_Good,'_ said Skandar.

'Well… when shall we do it?' said Faegareth.

Skandar looked at Kullervo. _'When do you want to do it, Kullervo?'_

Kullervo looked agonised. 'I… I would not push you to do it sooner than you are prepared for…'

'_We'll do it immediately, then,'_ said Skandar. _'I know that's what you want, and I want to get it over with. Faegareth, how do we do this?'_

'The process is simple enough,' said Faegareth. 'But you should drink and rest first, and you should probably speak to Senna and Skuld as well, and tell them what is happening. They deserve to know. After all, they found Kullervo and I and brought us here without a moment's hesitation.'

'_Oh!'_ Skandar started, suddenly ashamed – he had completely forgotten about the silver dragon and her burly partner. _'Yes, of course.'_

'Go, then,' said Faegareth. 'I must… I will honour my daughter.'

Skandar nodded silently. As he turned away, he saw Faegareth crouch by Scathach's body and spread his hands over her. The shapeshifter began to chant softly, and Skandar walked away, feeling inexplicably ashamed.

He found Senna cradling Sif's body, with Skuld close beside her.

'_Senna.'_

Senna looked up. To his shock, Skandar saw tears on her face. 'My Lord.'

'_Are you… all right?'_

Senna looked down at Sif, cold and still in her arms. 'Poor girl,' she said gruffly. 'She was so young.'

'_Yes,'_ said Skandar.

Senna touched Sif's face. 'Pretty, wasn't she?'

Skandar had never really thought about it. _'I suppose so.'_

Skuld stood up. _'How's Kullervo? I see y've met Faegareth.'_

'_He's fine. Listen…'_ Skandar explained the situation.

Senna's expression changed. 'What? So yer gonna…?'

'_Yes. I have to help Kullervo.'_

'Will it hurt yeh?' the one-eyed woman asked sharply.

'_No; it'll just weaken me for a while. I'll get better.'_

She rose. 'Are – you – sure?' she demanded.

Skandar resisted the urge to look away. _'Yes, absolutely.' _Lying to her made him hate himself.

'Well…' she looked uncertain. 'I s'pose if it's the only way t'help Kullervo…'

'_It is.'_ He hadn't told her that it would trap him in dragon shape for good.

'_Are yer we can trust this Faegareth?'_ said Skuld. _'What if he's havin' us on, like?'_

Skandar glanced back at the shapeshifter, who was now in the midst of performing his race's secret funeral rites. _'I don't think he is.'_

'_I trust him,'_ said Laela.

'So do I,' said Kullervo. 'He helped to nurse me back to health after I found him… I was weak and sick, and he took me in.'

'_You were travelling with someone else, weren't you?'_ said Laela. _'Galbatorix told me. You were with a woman… Angela, the herbalist. Where is she?'_

'Dead,' Kullervo said briefly. 'During our journey she caught firepox, and succumbed to it. There was nothing I could do for her.'

'Well how does this thing work?' said Senna. 'How are yer gonna do it?'

'_I don't know,'_ said Skandar. _'Faegareth hasn't told me yet. But he says it's simple.'_

They waited together, until the shapeshifter finished his ceremony and came to join them.

'I've done all I can for her,' he said. 'The rest is up to the gods.'

'Aren't you gonna bury her?' said Senna.

'No. For a shapeshifter, the only honour after death is to rot in the open and become part of nature. Most of us die without even the ceremonial words being said. Now…' Faegareth looked from Kullervo to Skandar. 'Have you told the others?'

'_Yes,'_ said Skandar.

'Good. Then you're ready?'

'I am,' said Kullervo. 'If my nephew is.'

Skandar kept his nervousness carefully hidden. _'I'm ready. Faegareth, tell us what to do.'_

'Come,' said Faegareth. 'Move back this way. We need space.'

He led Kullervo and Skandar back toward the mountain, past Scathach's body and into the open space in front of the half-collapsed cave entrance. The others followed.

'Stand well apart,' the shapeshifter commanded. 'You'll need space, for the change.' He smiled thinly. 'Kullervo was a large dragon. Soon he will be again.'

'_How close can we come?'_ said Laela.

'Not too close. There – where you are now. That's close enough. Now.' Faegareth turned to face Skandar and Kullervo. 'Skandar, listen carefully.'

'_I'm listening. Tell me what to do.'_

'Good. This is what you must do. Reach into Kullervo's mind. Make a mental link, and widen it. Then all you must do is pass your magic along that link. Concentrate, the way you would if you were transforming. Concentrate as hard as you can. The power will jump the link into Kullervo. You'll feel it begin to pass through into him, and when that happens, _don't panic._ Whatever you do, don't break the link. If you do, one or both of you could die. Or worse, you could become stuck halfway between shapes. You don't want that to happen.'

Skandar nodded. _'I can do it. Kullervo?'_

'Yes, Skandar?'

'_I have something to tell you, before we do this,'_ said Skandar, speaking privately.

'_What is it?' _said Kullervo, now using mental speech.

'_Alagaësia needs a King,'_ said Skandar. _'Kullervo, you are the only heir to the throne. Only you can rule.'_

'_I thought you would want to rule,'_ said Kullervo.

'_I believed it was my duty,'_ said Skandar. _'But it isn't up to me to decide. Your father wanted you to succeed him.'_

'_How do you know, weredragon?'_

'_He told me.'_ Skandar sighed. _'When… when I first came to this country, I came to see the King immediately. I introduced myself, and demanded that he name me as his heir. He… was not pleased. He refused, I argued, and he told me that if he ever died, only you could be his heir. When I told him you were dead and would not come back, he threw me out of his cave so hard he broke my leg and most of my ribs.'_

Kullervo smiled sadly. _'I believe you. That is how my father would have behaved.'_

'_Yes. And maybe I never knew him, but he was my grandfather and I respect his wishes. That's why I'm helping you, Kullervo. For his sake as well as yours. And for the sake of my own father. He never wanted me to rule here; he made me swear not to return. But… I'm glad I did. There were things I had to do here, even if becoming King wasn't one of them. This is the last thing. Kullervo… are you ready to become King?'_

Kullervo bowed his head. _'I am.'_

'_Then brace yourself, my Lord,'_ said Skandar. He widened the channel between them, opening his mind to Kullervo's until the orange-haired man could receive everything that lay within – his thoughts, his memories… even his magic. Once the channel was open, Skandar paused to mentally warn Kullervo, and then he began to concentrate.

For a while nothing happened, and it seemed nothing would. Skandar concentrated with all his might, desperately searching inside himself for the store of power that could make his entire body change shape. He had accessed it so many times over the years, until it had become almost a reflex action. But now the trauma he had gone through, in both shapes, had locked it away from him.

But it had to still be there. If Faegareth was right, then the power hadn't left him. There had to be a way to get to it.

Skandar breathed deeply, forcing himself to relax. Panic or desperation would only make it harder. He focused on the search, summoning up memories of all the times he had transformed – even back to that very first time, after he had hatched from the egg Ravana's magic had placed him inside, and slipped back and forth between shapes as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He focused on that dim memory, trying to bring back the way it had felt and the peaceful, innocent ease of it. It helped him to calm down, and he felt his heartbeat slow as he summoned up a different memory – that day, long ago, when the change had come upon him for the second time in his life. Not in peace or innocence, but in a moment of fear and pain, when his buried instincts had sought to protect him by forcing his body to change.

Skandar tensed. _No. Not this memory. No…_

But it was too late to banish it again. Long years spent trying to forget, nights when he had been unable to sleep, tormented by nightmares, nights when had stayed awake in his little bedroom, trying to drown the vision in mead and failing.

From across the years, faded by time but still piercing and terrible, the scream came to him. _FATHER!_

In that instant, Skandar felt the power surge up inside him. He lunged mentally, opening the link as widely as he could. _Change!_ he thought. _Change now! NOW!_

The power responded at once. It rushed though his veins, hot and vital, like liquid fire – he could feel it already beginning to pull at his bones and muscles, warping and shrinking them. _No! No, not-_

And then he felt it move up into his mind and rush out through the link, into Kullervo. He felt a moment of hot triumph… and then the change began. He felt his bones crack inside him, breaking to pieces as they melted into different shapes. His teeth hurt as they too moved, and his talons. His wings stretched horribly, and his scales felt as if they were cracking. _What's happening?_ he thought wildly. _What-?_

Pain overwhelmed his senses, taking his sight and hearing. Before he blacked out, he had time for one last thought. _The link… I feel, what he feels… not me, but…_

And then the darkness claimed him.


	28. For the Heart I Once Had

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

**For the Heart I Once Had**

Skandar groaned and turned over.

'_Dadogi_…'

The voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, speaking a language he thought he knew, from somewhere, long ago…

'_Dagogi,' _the voice moaned again._ 'Dadogi, Anafa. Chyfnertha 'm. Anafa. Dadogi…'_

A hand touched him gently, and a voice murmured back. _'Bod 'n heddychlon, ach 'n ddihangol. Dwi 'ma.'_

Skandar knew what it meant. "Be peaceful, you are safe. I am here".

He coughed. 'What…? Father…? Mother?'

The hand touched his face and rested on his forehead; it felt cool and soothing. 'You are safe,' the voice repeated. 'Skandar, you are safe.'

That language! Skandar started. That language… the voice was speaking dark elvish. 'You,' he said, and his voice came out harsh and croaky. 'You speak… the moon's tongue?'

The voice laughed softly. 'Of course I do. Skandar, open your eyes. Look at me.'

He opened his eyes – it felt so hard, almost painful. His vision was blurred. He blinked several times, trying to clear it. 'I… throat hurts…'

'Here,' said the voice. 'You must be thirsty. Drink this.'

A cup was pressed to his mouth, and he managed to drink. Water. He took a great gulp, and quickly drained the cup. The unseen speaker offered him more, and he drank that as well, gratefully.

'There,' said the voice. 'Is that better?'

Skandar coughed and lay back to rest, but the water had brought back some of his strength. 'Yes. A little. Little better.'

'I thought you were never going to wake up,' said the voice. 'Everybody did. How do you feel?'

'Weak,' Skandar mumbled. 'Sore. Is… is… what happened? Where…?'

'Lie still,' the voice advised. 'Everything is well. You've been asleep for days. Faegareth said it wasn't unusual for someone to sleep so long after doing what you did.'

_Faegareth!_ Skandar jerked back to his senses at the sound of the name. 'Kullervo!'

'Kullervo is fine,' said the voice. 'Skandar, can you see me? Try and use your eyes.'

Skandar blinked some more, and rubbed his eyes. This time, they focused. The dark blur hovering above him began to resolve itself, and he squinted, not understanding what he was seeing.

The face above him was female, pale and angular, dominated by a pair of lustrous black eyes. Her hair was long and fine, decorated with silver beads and ornaments carved out of bone. It, too, was black – black as night and the shadows. And her ears, poking up through it, were pointed.

Skandar gaped at her. 'You…'

She smiled. 'Skandar. Thank the moon you're all right. I thought… for a while, I thought you were going to die.'

'Eurwen,' Skandar breathed.

The dark elf found his hand and clasped it. 'So you remember me.'

'How?' said Skandar. 'Eurwen… how? How are you… here?'

'I followed you, of course,' said Eurwen. She drew herself up proudly. 'What? You didn't think that a princess of Hen Addef would be so easily shaken off, did you?'

'But why?' said Skandar.

She sighed. 'Oh, Skandar. You poor little fool. Why do you think I would have followed you?'

It was too much for Skandar to take in. 'The crown…'

Eurwen rolled her eyes. 'The crown? Why should I care about it? I came after you because I love you, Skandar. What else could make me leave my home and cross the sea to find you?'

Skandar realised that there was a lump in his throat. 'But… Eurwen, I know… I know we spent time together, and maybe we… we were only children! Neither of us had even been purified in the lake – how could we know anything about love?'

'We knew nothing,' said Eurwen. 'But time teaches us differently, doesn't it?'

'"Time teaches all",' Skander mumbled, quoting an old dark elvish proverb.

'Yes.' She caressed his forehead, brushing back the silver curls. 'After you left, I was heartbroken. I couldn't understand why you had gone without telling me – without even saying goodbye. My father was furious that you had stolen the _torix_ from the treasury… but you were always stealing things, weren't you? Hafwyn used to say no lock could ever hold out against you. She changed the one that protected the cellars, but that never stopped you. She told me you stole the contents of two barrels of mead during one moon's turn.'

'Eurwen, I…' Skandar bowed his head. 'I'm not a… I only drank because I couldn't sleep. I didn't want you to know about it.'

'It doesn't matter,' she told him. 'You had too much in your mind… too many memories you couldn't live with. But listen. After you left, I thought that since you had gone without telling me it meant you did not love me. But one day I realised that you _had_ told me. You wanted me to come with you… you confessed your crime to me. You did not want to leave me.'

'I didn't,' said Skandar.

'I know, and when I realised that, I realised…' Eurwen bowed her head. 'I realised why I had cried myself to sleep every night since you left.'

'Eurwen, I'm sorry-,'

'Don't apologise,' said Eurwen. 'You followed your dream, and I can't blame you for that. And if you hadn't left, I would never have realised the truth.'

'What truth?' said Skandar.

'That I loved you,' she said simply. 'And when I realised that, I knew I had to go after you, and find you no matter what it took. Now, I have.'

Weak and confused though he was, Skandar felt his heart swell. 'Eurwen… you didn't have to do that.'

'Yes I did,' said Eurwen. 'You know that, Skandar. If I had to live apart from you, _'m anwylyd_, my heart would break and I would die.'

'_M anwylyd… _"my beloved". Inexplicably, Skandar found himself thinking of Sif. 'You came all this way. Just to find me. I didn't think…'

'Rest,' said Eurwen. 'You've been through so much. Senna told me everything.'

Skandar looked away. 'I didn't think I was worth it.'

'Hush. You are worth it, Skandar, whether you think so or not. Now rest. You have earned it, I think.'

Skandar lay back obediently. 'What happened? Did Kullervo-?'

'Yes. He is a dragon again. And soon he will be crowned King.'

'Soon?' said Skandar. 'Why soon? Why not now?'

'Because he demanded that you be the one to crown him,' said Eurwen.

'Me…' Skandar looked down at his hands, resting on the sheets. 'I'm a man again. I changed back. Why? How? Faegareth said…'

'Faegareth cannot explain what happened,' said Eurwen. 'He told me that as Kullervo changed into a dragon, you changed as well.'

Skandar breathed deeply, blissfully. He was a man again, and he was alive. And Eurwen… 'When did you come here?'

'Two days ago. You… _we_ are in the castle at Ilirea. Now…' Eurwen straightened up, moving away from the bed. 'Rest. I should go and tell Senna you're awake.'

Skandar lay back, his head spinning. 'Eurwen, I…'

She looked back. 'Yes?'

'Thankyou.'

Eurwen smiled. 'You're welcome.'

After she had gone, Skandar tried to get out of bed. But the dizziness returned when he tried to lift his head back off the pillow, and he was forced to see that he was weaker than he had thought. He lay back down and let himself relax, albeit reluctantly.

Once he had recovered a little, he pulled back the sheets and examined himself – checking for injuries. Nothing. His skin was white and smooth, at least where it wasn't scarred. There were no scales, no tail. For a few moments he had worried that he could, perhaps, be stuck between shapes again. _No,_ he thought deliriously. _Human from head to toe. Mostly human, anyway. _

Even the effort of finding that out exhausted him, and a few moments later he slid into a doze. When he woke up again Eurwen was back, and Senna was with her.

'Sir!' the burly woman approached his bed, grinning from ear to ear. 'Yer all right! Thank gods for that.'

Skandar smiled wearily. 'Hullo, Senna. Are you all right?'

'The old hip's givin' me trouble again, but other'n that I'm fine,' said Senna. 'But who cares about that? _I _ain't the one who's bin unconscious f'nearly a week.'

'A _week?'_ said Skandar.

'Well, not a week, but close,' Senna conceded. 'Four days, nearly five.'

'So I passed out,' said Skandar.

'Yeah. Been lyin' there like a dead man ever since, sir. Faegareth said as all y'needed was rest. Time t'get yer energy back, like. How d'you feel?'

'Weak,' said Skandar. 'But I'll be fine.'

'I'm sure y'will,' said Senna. 'Yer a tough 'un, sir. Just like yer dad.'

Eurwen sighed. 'I never knew King Galbatorix, but if he was as strong as his son is then it's no wonder he founded an Empire and ruled it for a century. It was an achievement even a dark elf would be proud of.'

'He was human as well as dark elf, milday,' said Senna, a little sharply. 'That's what he always was t'me.'

Skandar coughed out a laugh. 'Blood doesn't… matter as much as people think it does. Mine brought me a long way, but it doesn't determine who I am. Senna… how is Kullervo?'

'Fine,' said Senna. 'He's livin' in the King's Wood now, with Laela. We've… the King's tomb's been re-sealed. We put Skirnir's bones in there, with all the rest we could find.'

'And Sif?'

'Ah. Well, Kullervo ordered for Saphira's bones t'go in the mountain. She was a Storm Dragon too, after all. Sif's under the city, in the riders' tombs. Next t'her father. I had her buried in her favourite gown, with lots of flowers. I thought she'd like that. But I put her sword in there, too.'

Skandar nodded. 'Good… that was a good thing to do. That's what I would have done in your place.'

'Thanks, sir.' She sounded relieved.

'So that's it,' Skandar mumbled. 'Everybody's dead. And Kullervo is King.'

'Yes, sir. Or will be once you've crowned him. Y'will do that, won't yer?'

'If he wants me to.' Skandar rubbed his eyes; they still hurt. 'It's only… fitting. After all. My father passed the throne on to Ravana, and now I should be the one to crown Kullervo, to reinforce the pact he made. When does… when does Kullervo want to do it?'

'When yer ready, sir,' said Senna.

'Take time to rest first,' Eurwen advised. 'I can look after you.'

Senna nodded. 'She's been doin' a great job of it so far, sir. Stayed by yer, used her magic t'help yer stay strong…'

The dark elf shrugged. 'I couldn't do much, but I did what I could.'

'An' obviously that was enough,' Senna smiled. 'Anyway… I'd best be off. Yer still need sleep, an' it'd be lousy of me t'stick around an' yammer in yer ear.' She bowed and left.

'She's odd, isn't she?' said Eurwen.

'She used to be a tailor,' said Skandar. 'Before she was a rider. She made all my father's robes. Now, she's the last rider left in Alagaësia. It must be hard for her.'

Eurwen looked sadly toward the door Senna had left by. 'I don't think there'll be any more riders. Not in Alagaësia. This land feels… tired.'

'Yes…' Skandar sighed. 'My father sacrificed so much to try and bring them back. It was his greatest wish. And now, it seems…'

'He left a fine son behind,' said Eurwen. 'I think, maybe, it would be enough for any man.'

Skandar thought of his father's ghost, and the look of sad pride on its face before it faded away. 'Yes… maybe it is.'

Eurwen smiled softly at him. 'And one day I hope you and I will know for certain.'

Skandar smiled back. 'I missed you, you know,' he said. 'Every day. I don't think I realised how much.'

'Well,' she said. 'I wouldn't blame you if you didn't realise. After all… you had a lot on your mind.'

It took Skandar several more days to recover his strength. He spent much of that time asleep, and every time he woke up he felt better. Soon he had the strength to get out of bed and walk around, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he was strong enough to run and fight once again. Eurwen stayed by his side every day, bringing him food and talking to him, keeping him company while he slowly recovered from all he had been through. Faegareth also came to visit him, but the shapeshifter was untalkative and had little to say beyond; 'You did well. We all owe you a debt. Especially the King.'

Later, when he was strong enough, he went with Eurwen and Senna to see Sif's tomb.

It had been sealed, but the wall that hid Sif's body was uncarved.

'I've sent t'Gil'ead for 'em t'send their best stonemason,' Senna explained. 'It seemed best.'

Skandar ran his fingers over the blank stone, not really hearing her. If he tried, he could still see Sif's face in his mind, and hear her voice. Poor, naïve Sif. 'I tried so hard to protect her,' he said, half to himself.

'No-one blames you, sir,' said Senna.

'She died a hero's death,' said Eurwen. 'At least she had that. If she died in Tara, my father would have a great monument made in her honour.'

But, in the end, a monument was exactly what they did make. When Skandar was able to leave the castle, he returned to the King's Wood, where he was reunited with Laela.

The white dragon looked strong, and much healthier than she had been when he had found her in the Spine. She stood proudly to meet him by the base of the mountain, her head raised high and her eyes gleaming silver.

'_Skandar. Are you well?'_

'_I am,'_ said Skandar. _'But I don't know if I'll ever change again. But what about you?'_

'_I feel much better,'_ said Laela. _'Peaceful, somehow. Now I'm alone in my mind again… it's almost lonely. But I can live this way.'_

'_My father would have wanted it that way,'_ said Skandar.

'_Yes,'_ said Laela, matter-of-factly. _'He would want both of us to live and be happy.'_

'_What are you going to do now?'_ said Skandar. _'Do you know?'_

'_I am going to the Spine,'_ said Laela, without any hesitation. _'And I am going to find a mate. I want young of my own. And maybe I'll have a son as fine as my rider did.'_

'_You will,'_ said Skandar. _'I'm sure of it. Have young, I mean.'_

Eurwen put her hand on his arm. 'Skandar, look.'

'What is it?' said Skandar.

'The King is coming,' Eurwen said simply.

Skandar looked up, along with Laela, Eurwen, Senna and Skuld, as the great dragon came down to land on top of the mountain. He was huge – not as big as his father, but still one of the biggest dragons any of them had seen. But he was slim and fit, without the massive heaviness of Ravana. His scales were fiery orange, darkening to brown on his spine and the ridges of his noble head, which was crowned by six horns. The membrane of his big, ragged wings was golden yellow, and his eyes were the same burnished gold as his father's had been as he looked down on them, haughty and dignified as a King should be.

Skandar knelt, while beside him the others did the same.

'_Sire.'_

Kullervo leaned down, lowering his snout until it was just above Skandar's head. _'Prince Skandar. You have recovered.'_

'_Yes, Sire,'_ said Skandar. _'Are you well?'_

'_I am better than I have been in a long, long time, Skandar son of Galbatorix,' _Kullervo rumbled. _'And it is thanks to you.'_

'_I told you I was willing to do anything to help you, Sire,'_ said Skandar.

'_Yes. And I cannot thank you enough. If there is anything I can do to repay you, name it.'_

'_There's nothing I want, Sire,'_ said Skandar. _'Except…'_

'_Speak,'_ Kullervo commanded.

'_I think we should build something here,'_ said Skandar, addressing all of them. _'A monument, in honour of everyone who died in this wood.'_

'I agree,' said Eurwen.

'_Then that is what we will do,'_ said Kullervo. _'Skandar, you shall decide what this monument will be, and I shall command for it to be built.'_

'_Yes, Sire,'_ said Skandar. _'And perhaps you could be crowned in front of it.'_

'_We shall see,'_ said Kullervo.

That night, Skandar met with Senna and Eurwen to show them the design he had thought up. Faegareth too, deigned to come by and give his opinion – the shapeshifter preferred to keep to himself and had been very elusive during Skandar's recovery. Next day they showed the design to Kullervo, who gave it his approval, and work commenced.

It took nearly a month to create. During that time, many visitors came to Ilirea. Word had been sent out, and now the land finally knew that King Ravana was dead, along with all of the riders he had commanded. But he had left orders that his son should take his place, and the new King would soon be crowned.

It wasn't just the Lords of the realm who came, to pay their respects and attend the corination – the wild dragons came too. Not many of them, since wild dragons preferred to stay in their own territories, but some of the oldest and most powerful of their number came to swear allegiance to the dragon who had once been their leader and now would be again.

Skandar saw very little of Kullervo during this time. The orange dragon spent nearly all his time in the King's Wood, receiving his visitors, consulting officials and accepting pledges. Learning how to rule.

Finally, toward the end of the month when the moon had waxed until it was nearly full, the coronation took place. Skandar, clad in a black robe with his hair and beard both neatly combed and trimmed, entered the King's Wood with Eurwen by his side. The dark elf wore a fine silver gown trimmed with white fox-fur, and had painted her face with spirals in the manner of her people. Skandar had decided to leave his own face unpainted, but he carried his father's sword, strapped to his back, the blade cleaned and polished.

When the two of them entered the clearing in front of the mountain, they found everyone waiting for them there. Humans and dragons lined its edges, around the monument Skandar had devised, which was now completed.

It was a circle of standing stones – eight in all – each one taller than Skandar and carved with elaborate spiral patterns. At the center was a ninth stone, carved to resemble an altar or a tomb. A triple-spiral symbol had been cut deeply into the top.

Kullervo stood in the largest gap in the stones, just in front of the mountain. Senna and Skuld stood to his right, the former holding her axe blade-downward between her feet – a sign that the fighting was over and that peace had now come. Faegareth stood to the left, wearing the shape of a big black-and-bronze dragon and watching everything with a serene expression.

When Skandar and Eurwen entered the circle, the crowd went quiet.

Kullervo rose up. _'Name yourself.'_

Skandar left Eurwen by the altar stone, and stepped forward alone. He stopped in front of Kullervo, drew his sword and knelt, resting the point on the ground and bowing his head. 'I am Skandar Ravana Taranisäii, son of King Galbatorix Taranisäii and Skade Silverscales.'

There was a stirring in the crowd – human and dragon alike. Skandar, glancing up, realised that this was the first time he had been officially seen in public. Many of them couldn't have even known that Galbatorix had a son.

Kullervo ignored their consternation. _'Rise.'_

Skandar did, sheathing the sword. Senna came forward, offering him a large velvet bag. He took it. 'Kullervo Firewings, son of Ravana and Silarae, I come here to confer upon you the title of Lord and Protector of the Alagaësian Empire, King of all these lands, in the name of my father, King Galbatorix Taranisäii, the Shadow that Walks, and your own father, King Ravana the Night Dragon. Do you accept?'

'_I accept,' _said Kullervo, sharing the words with all present.

Skandar took a deep breath, trying to recall the words. 'To all those gathered here,' he said, his voice loud and clear. 'Bear witness to this, the naming of Alagaësia's new ruler. You, the people of this country, united under a common banner, shall from this day forth answer to his authority alone, and from now on all those who challenge him will be guilty of having committed treason against you. Your loyalty is the only return asked of you. Be faithful, and peace and prosperity shall be yours.' He stepped closer, opening the bag, and as Kullervo lowered his head he brought out a thick band of gold, studded with gems. He fitted it onto one of the great dragon's horns. More followed, one by one, and as Skandar put them on, turning Kullervo's horns into a crown, he chanted the words which had been spoken at Galbatorix's own coronation so long ago. 'May you be judge and warlord, master and protector, may you care for your people above all else, may you live long and shield us from misfortune.' He said the words twice, once in the common tongue and once in the ancient language, and as he put the last ring in place he repeated it once more, quietly, in dark elvish. And then it was done. 'Rise, King Kullervo Firewings the First, Lord of Alagaësia.'

As Kullervo lifted his head once more, Skandar glanced back at Eurwen. She was standing by the altar-stone, watching him with a look of open pride. But behind her, he thought he caught a glimpse of something else, just for a moment – a tall, thin man sitting cross-legged on the stone, stroking his pointed beard and smiling a small, triumphant smile.

Kullervo lifted his head, his horns gleaming in the sun, and the people around the circle knelt – even the dragons bent their forelegs and lowered their heads. And the King of Alagaësia lifted his head to the sky and roared.

Skandar didn't feel like attending the celebrations that followed Kullervo's crowning, in and around the circle. He stayed long enough to have a few bites of food and a drink, and to pay his respects, but before long he found himself feeling trapped by all the people around him. He quietly set down his cup and slipped away into a shadow, unnoticed. The coloured lanterns strung from the trees in the King's Wood provided plenty of cover.

He returned to the city, sliding through the streets without a sound, and crept back into the castle and thence upstairs to his quarters – Murtagh's old room.

He sat down on the bed and took his boots off. His nose was full of Murtagh's fading scent – none of the powerful rider's belongings had been taken out yet, and Skandar found it unsettling. This was the room where Murtagh had hanged himself; the whole place stank of restless ghosts. _Ghost._ Skandar thought briefly of the vision he had seen during the coronation. It had vanished so quickly he would have missed it if he'd blinked… but had it been real?

No. The idea was ridiculous. He put it out of his mind.

As he lay back on the bed, feeling tired but relieved that it was over with, he saw something that made him blink. There was a shelf on the wall opposite the bed, covered in ornaments and other small items. He hadn't bothered to look very closely at it before, but for some reason he had just noticed one thing on it. He got up and padded over to pick it up. It was a small toy dragon, made from a few scraps of leather with buttons for eyes. It looked very old and a little worn, but it had been finely-stitched and even had jointed legs and wings. Skandar turned it over, curious. It was too old to have belonged to Nasuada's little son – scent confirmed it. He wondered where it had come from, and why anybody would want to keep it. Still…

Not quite knowing why, he stuffed the dragon into his pocket before he returned to bed.

He went to sleep a little while later, his head full of sad memories and regret – though regret for exactly what he didn't know.

Some time later, someone shook him awake. 'Skandar. _Skandar.'_

His eyes snapped open and he jerked awake in an instant, his teeth bared. 'What? What is it?' his hand was already groping for his dagger.

A soft hand touched his face. 'Calm down! It's me.'

'Eurwen.' Skandar relaxed. 'Gods, I'm so sorry. It's just been so long… I keep expecting to be attacked every moment.'

'It's all right. Nobody likes to be woken up.' Eurwen smiled at him, her face visible in the magical light she had summoned up. 'I'm sorry I scared you, but I was wondering if you'd like to go for a walk. The moon is out.'

'Of course!' Skandar sat up. 'Just let me get my boots.'

He hadn't bothered to undress, and Eurwen waited while he laced up his boots. He also slipped a dagger into his robe. Eurwen looked at it, but said nothing.

'Where d'you want to go?' said Skandar.

'The King's Wood,' said Eurwen. 'It looks beautiful at night.'

'All right,' said Skandar.

As he made for the door, she fell in beside him and silently slipped her hand into his.

There was no need to sneak out of the castle, but Skandar did it anyway, partly out of habit. He didn't need to help Eurwen keep up – like all dark elves, she had the power to use shadows to her advantage, and could walk as silently as a cat. She followed him effortlessly, almost gliding through the darkness, never more than one step behind him. Skandar, sensing her presence even if he couldn't hear her, suddenly felt a little thrill go through his body. _'Try and keep up,'_ he said mentally, and sped up into a run.

He knew the castle's corridors quite well by now, and he led her on a silent, twisting dance – through rooms and corridors, turning corners and doubling back, past guards on duty, slipping past their watchful eyes as if he were invisible. Through several levels of the castle and then out through a window and into the city – where people were still up and about – some of them dangerous.

Skandar could feel his heart pounding as he ran, and he grinned suddenly, spontaneously – as he hadn't grinned in a long time. But he didn't slow his pace, or stop to see if Eurwen were still following him.

He found a spot where the city wall had cracked, leaving the tiniest of handholds, and swarmed up it without pausing, his long fingers hooking themselves into every gap, his claws digging into the mortar to give him an extra grip. The guards at the top never saw him dash across the parapet and vault over the crenulations. He climbed down the other side until he was low enough to let go and drop the rest of the way, and then he was darting away over the countryside toward the King's Wood – a shadow in the night.

He stopped at the edge of the trees and hid himself in another shadow, panting softly.

'Is that the best you can do?' Eurwen said in his ear.

Skandar jerked very slightly, unable to hide his shock. 'Well,' he said. 'I didn't want to leave you behind, now did I?'

She grinned and shoved him in the ribs, pushing him out of the shadow and into the moonlight. 'Always the gentle lord, weren't you?'

Skandar laughed. 'Gentle? What's that?'

'Something you've never been,' Eurwen teased.

'Just as well,' said Skandar. 'Nobody gentle or well-mannered could ever hold his own with you. And that's exactly how you like it,' he added.

She smiled more gently. 'You always did know me better than anyone else, didn't you?'

Skandar lost his own grin. 'But you never knew me as well as you wanted to. That was why we argued.'

'Well.' Eurwen sighed. 'You didn't want to let anyone in. Not even me. You weren't ready for it.'

'No.' Skandar said it quite matter-of-factly.

Eurwen offered him her hand. 'Let's walk.'

They set out together, through the trees, not hiding themselves now. There was no need. High above, a full moon shone with pure white light, turning everything in the wood silvery-grey and timeless. In moonlight, everything was still.

Neither of them spoke. Silence was the way of dark elves. _And I am a dark elf now,_ Skandar thought. _If I never change again, then I can't be a weredragon any more._

But just now, with Eurwen, the thought didn't distress him as much as it had done before.

As they neared the clearing, Eurwen's grip tightened on his hand. 'Skandar! Look!'

The air had suddenly become colder. As Skandar pulled his robe more tightly around himself, a little bite of ice caught him on the nose. Another one touched his forehead, and then more – tiny white shapes drifting downward to melt in his hair.

'It's snowing!'

'But at this time of year…' Eurwen looked puzzled. 'It's only autumn, isn't it?'

'I think so,' said Skandar.

Eurwen tugged at his hand. 'Come on. I want to see the clearing.'

They walked on, toward the stone circle… and stepped out of the trees into another world.

The snow was falling even more thickly in the clearing. It had settled on the circle of stones, covering the altar in a white shroud. More snow had begun to pile up around the trees, forming little mounds and banks. Snow. The first snow Skandar had seen since leaving the Icelands months before.

Eurwen walked toward the centre of the circle, looking around in wonder. 'It's… Skandar, this is… I know this.'

'It's like Tara,' said Skandar. 'It's just the same. Look, see the trees?'

Eurwen frowned at them. 'Pine trees, and fir trees too. I thought there were only oaks near the mountain.'

Skandar walked among the stones, his boots crunching on the snow. 'This is a place for dark elves,' he said, without thinking. 'A magical place. Eurwen, do you think…'

'Magic must have done this,' said Eurwen. 'The trees have changed, and the snow… this isn't natural. It must be a sign.'

'From the moon, maybe,' said Skandar. He walked toward the altar stone, feeling more peaceful than confused or frightened. 'I know what this place reminds me of.'

'What?' said Eurwen.

'A place in the North… in the Icelands,' said Skandar. 'When I was a boy, my father took me there – with Laela and my mother. It was a valley – snowbound, full of pine trees. My father called it the Valley of the Dark Elves, and he said that long ago the last of them lived there, and took him in when he was fleeing from Vrael. He learned about his heritage there.'

A look of certainty came over Eurwen's face. 'And this is where your father's ghost disappeared.'

'Yes.'

She smiled sadly. 'This must be his place now. His spirit is at peace.'

_Peace? Oh, don't I wish…_

Skandar turned sharply. 'Father?'

There was nothing behind him. He went to Eurwen's side, searching the air around them both, looking for something… even a wisp of white mist. Nothing.

'Father?' he called again. 'Father, are you there?'

_Yes…_ the voice was faint – scarcely more than a whisper in the breeze.

Skandar darted toward the place where it had come from. 'Where are you?'

_Here, Skandar,_ the voice whispered. _See? _

Skandar looked toward the altar. 'I can't see…'

Eurwen, coming to join him, grabbed him by the arm and pointed silently. Skandar followed her direction, staring fixedly at the spot by the stone.

'Where are you?' he said again, desperately.

_Here,_ the voice said again.

And then, at last, Skandar saw… or thought he saw. It was so faint – a shape in the air, where the drifting snow seemed to distort as if there were something in its way.

He stepped toward it. 'Father!'

The shape faltered – seeming to move toward him. _Skandar…_

'Father!'

_I see you,_ the voice whispered. _Skandar._

Skandar realised that there were tears on his face. 'Father, please… where are you? Let me see you!'

_You see me,_ said the voice. _This is my place now, Skandar… my home. Listen…_

Skandar opened his mouth to call out again, but Eurwen touched his arm again. 'He has something to tell you,' she said. 'Listen. There might not be much time.'

Skandar nodded desperately. 'Tell me, Father. I'm listening.'

The shape became stronger and more defined now, and for a moment he could glimpse a face, eyes… _Skandar,_ Galbatorix's voice sighed on the breeze. _I wanted to tell you. There is a place. Where you go, after you die… a place in the mind, always different. I think it shapes itself, for you, the way your body did when you were alive. A place you remember, from life, when you were at peace… a place your heart was most alive._

'The afterlife?' said Skandar.

The shape blurred once again, and the voice faded. _Yes… a place. Wait! Wait, let me… wait a moment… _the shape became stronger, and the voice. _When I trained, as a rider… we had to meditate, to strengthen our minds. They told us to create a place, in our heads, where we could rest and be at peace. The place we made for ourselves would be ours alone, it would tell us who we were. Mine was always a forest in the snow… pine trees in the snow, and a stone circle, where I was at home… this is my place now. You see it?_

'Yes,' Skandar whispered. 'I see it, Father.'

A ghostly laugh drifted out of the air. _Isn't it beautiful, Skandar? Isn't it peaceful? This is my place, now… always…_

'But Father…' Skandar turned around, trying to find the shape again. 'Father, you've done all you had to do. This isn't the afterlife. You deserve to go back there now, so you can rest.'

The shape had vanished now, as the snowfall became lighter. _The dead are forbidden to interfere with the living,_ Galbatorix's voice whispered. _I broke that law, and now the land of the dead has shut me out. This is my home, until the end of time. I will haunt this wood… watching over the stones. Perhaps, one day, I will be forgiven._

'But Father…' Skandar could feel the tears trickling into his beard – he was crying silently, not even realising it. 'There has to be something we can do… some way to help you.'

_No… it's all right. Don't cry, Skandar. I don't want to go. I want to be here. I can watch over you… watch over this land. I know how to wait. And one day, I'll move on. When I'm ready. One day, perhaps…_

'Can I see you again?' said Skandar.

There was a long silence before the spirit replied. _I don't know… so weak… I see you, I hear you… my voice… weak… I think the moon, maybe… when it's full, and our blood is strong… yes…_ The voice faded away.

'Father!' Skandar darted this way and that, searching, but he couldn't see anything – nothing but blank white snow and the dark bars of the trees beyond the stones. The snow had stopped falling. '_Father! _Father, please, talk to me! Come back! _FATHER!'_

But no reply came, and deep down Skandar knew the spirit had departed – leaving him alone again.

Eurwen came to him as he stopped, and took him in her arms. Skandar clung to her, shuddering, and she held onto him. He felt like a little boy again.

'It's all right,' she said at last. 'He isn't gone. This is his place now – he told you so. Our place.'

'But I miss him so much,' Skandar whispered.

'Nothing lasts forever,' said Eurwen. 'Not even an elvish life. Galbatorix Taranisäii lives again, in you, Skandar. And his spirit is here. He came back for you, and he won't leave you.'

'I know,' said Skandar.

She kissed him on the cheek. 'You don't want to leave here, do you?'

Skandar shook his head silently. 'They need me here, anyway. They all do.'

'I understand. I know I'll miss Hen Addef, but… I don't want to be separated from you again. If you want to stay here, Skandar… then I will too.'

'But Tara is your home,' said Skandar.

'It was once,' said Eurwen. 'But my mother always told me that home is where your heart lives.' She smiled. 'Where your spirit is at peace. And I think, just now… this is where I feel at peace.' She touched his chest. 'And this is where my heart lives.'

Skandar smiled back at her, his eyes still shining with tears. 'Then we'll make this land our home,' he said. 'And maybe, one day, our descendants will go back to Tara.'

She grinned mischievously. 'Our descendants, you say? And what descendants would these be?'

'Blood calls,' Skandar murmured. 'Sooner or later, we hear it. It's what brought me back here.'

'Blood calls,' Eurwen repeated softly. 'Yes…'

The two of them shared a lingering kiss, in the moonlight. While they held each other, a breeze – full of the scent of fir trees and with the bite of ice in it – stirred Skandar's hair.

The snow began to fall.

And above, drifting unseen through the branches of the King's Wood, the spirit of Galbatorix saw them below and felt peace and joy spread from his heart and out to touch the wood and the city and the world beyond. He let himself rest for a moment in the wood of a tree, and then moved on, sleepless, searching… but happy. And as the snow fell and turned the land white, one thought awoke in his mind. _I will see another life. One day, all this will be again._

**Author's Note**: Yes, I know it's a no-no to include author's notes within chapters, but I don't care because I had to say this at the end of the story rather than at the beginning of the final chapter. _Shadow's Heir, _my eighth fanfiction, is also my last. I have no plans to write any more fanfictions in this fandom in the future. I know some people will be sad to hear it, but there's a simple reason for it: I'm not going to write any more fanfics because there is no need to. I've said all I have to say, and provided as much closure as I felt I should for all the characters' storylines. If I write any more fanfics, the quality will start to go downhill and nobody wants that. So I'm quitting while I'm (hopefully) ahead, and I hope I've given my readers as worthwhile and fulfilling an experience as I had in writing these.

Sometimes I wonder why I put so much energy into writing so many long and elaborate stories that I can never publish except online. But not very often. Not all stories have to be published, and even though I was never actually an _Eragon_ fan I still admit that if I hadn't written these fanfictions I would not be anywhere near as good or experienced as I am now. I still have a lot to learn, but I had even more to learn when I first started out and the _Storm Dragon_ fics have been the perfect way to get the experience I needed. I fully believe that as of this writing I have never written anything as good as _From White to Black_ or _The Shadowed Throne_, but I hope to surpass them one day.

In any case, the prediction made by Galbatorix's ghost was an accurate one – for those who don't know, the Shadow That Walks has indeed been given another life, along with most of the original characters who appeared in these fanfictions. My new original series – which now looks close to being formally published in Australia – uses several of the ideas I came up with in these fanfictions, albeit in a different setting and with a different (though sometimes similar) storyline. And my favourite characters have also been given a new home. I've included all of these characters (sometimes changing their names for copyright reasons, or altering their backstories):

Galbatorix Taranisäii

Skade

Ravana/Shruikan (combined into a single character)

Roland (in a small role)

Morzan

Flell

Laela

Vander and Ymazu

Gern

Arthryn and Saethryn

And later on in the series, others may pop up.

Anyway, the first book in the series is called _The Dark Griffin,_ and at the moment the sequels are called _The Man Without a Heart_ and _The Shadow That Walks._ There will be a fourth book, but I haven't titled it yet. _The Dark Griffin_ has had some extremely positive responses from publishers, and the most recent one to write back has asked to see the sequel and looks as if they're very close to making me an offer. I'm posting all the latest news on my LiveJournal (link in my profile), so check there if you want to find out what's going on. I'll also post a thread at SF3 if it does get published, just to let everyone who's interested know.

That aside, I only really have one thing left to say: thankyou so, so much to everyone who read my fanfictions over the years, whether they reviewed or not. Some of you have been mentioned in the dedication to _The Dark Griffin,_ but to those who didn't are just as important and I'm just as grateful to them. It's been an amazing few years, and I don't intend to forget any of you, or all the incredible things that happened here. _Mai 'r chyneua chan 'r tharian lleaud achlesa 'ch_.

Opifex the Singer, December 2007-12-16


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